


A Cradle in Soho

by blue_dalmatian



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Alternate Universe - Parents, Angels, Asexual Relationship, Babies, Childbirth, Children, Demons, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Family, Fluff and Humor, Hospitals, IKEA, Ineffable Dads (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), LGBTQ Themes, London, Lullabies, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Platonic Relationships, Song Lyrics, Supernatural Elements, Surrogacy, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-05-31 10:27:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 33,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19424095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_dalmatian/pseuds/blue_dalmatian
Summary: 'The first lesson that any entity, occult, ethereal, human or otherwise, should learn is that mixing red wine and whisky will only lead to dreadful, irreversible mistakes. However, this is a lesson that neither Crowley nor Aziraphale had learnt on this particular Thursday night in Soho.'After a night of drunken mistakes and miracles, Crowley and Aziraphale find themselves being thrown wings-first into the world of parenting. With a baby on the way and little time to prepare, the pair have to get to grips with this parenting ordeal - they're in it for eternity, after all.





	1. A Miraculous Phone Call

**Author's Note:**

> This work has not been beta read, so please notify me of any and all errors!
> 
> Special thanks to the Good Omens discord server, as this work wouldn't exist without their input.

The first lesson that any entity, occult, ethereal, human or otherwise, should learn is that mixing red wine and whisky will only lead to dreadful, irreversible mistakes. However, this is a lesson that neither Crowley nor Aziraphale had learnt on this particular Thursday night in Soho. After the events of the Armaggedeon That Wasn't, both Heaven and Hell had stuck to their promise of leaving their representatives on Earth alone. Since they were no longer under the near-constant surveillance of their higher ups, Crowley and Aziraphale had returned to what they usually do best: drinking copious amounts of alcohol in the bookshop after hours.

Sat upright on the chaise lounge, Aziraphale was gradually reducing his wine-scotch concoction to tiny droplets, constantly shifting the position of his arm in order to make room for the demon sprawled drunkenly across his chest.

"Ma-my point is, Angel," Crowley slurred, waving his arm around, narrowly avoiding whacking Aziraphale in the face with his fingers. "My point is... my point is sushi!"

"Sushi?" Aziraphale questioned, his nose wrinkling in confusion. 

"Ye-yeah!" the crimson-haired creature hiccuped, finishing the last few drops of his drink. However, the emptiness of the glass was short-lived, as a quick hand wave meant that the glass was filled to the brim once more. "I mean, one moment, you're just a little fish, little tiddly thing, swimming around! Next thing you know, you're wrapped in... in rice and drenched in so-so-sou-salty brown sauce!"

As he described his delusional thoughts, one final, extravagant gesture caused the wedding ring on his finger to catch the edge of his sunglasses, sending them cascading to the musty carpet. Between the end of the Armaggedeon That Wasn't and this dreary haze of a Thursday night in London, the pair had managed to stop stumbling over their feelings for each other and admitted that there was something more to this 6,000 year long relationship, leading to a chain reaction of events that spurred them on to move in together (Crowley had uprooted his entire life and his houseplants from the cold hostility of his flat to the cosy warmth of the apartment above the bookshop) and finally making an honest entity out of each other. Hosted in an exquisite garden in Tadfield, the entire affair featured the Them, Madame Tracy, Shadwell, Newt and Anathema, along with some more willing and agreeable members of both Upstairs and Downstairs, with ivory and scarlet decor gracing every surface. In short, despite a few mishaps, the wedding was practically perfect in every way. 

"Tiddly, dink-dinky, tiny little squirmers!" Aziraphale remarked, repeating his husband's rather odd description of the process of making sushi. "Midget, minuscule things. Like babies!"

This remark caused both men to pause for a moment, staring into each other with irises filled with stars and thoughts. Abruptly, they burst out laughing, releasing bursts of intoxicated glee.

"Ah, a baby!" Aziraphale smiled widely, his thoughts rapidly filling with ruby curls and sapphire eyes. "Imagine us, with a-with a baby!"

"Kids. Never thought about kids much!" Crowley stated, his words beginning to slur and blend together.

"Never thought of you as a children person, my dear."

After this statement, the demon gave a look of disbelief to his angel, sliding himself upwards off of Aziraphale's lap.

"Oh, I love kids, big kiddy fan me! Love 'em, children, babies, all that..er... stuff!" Crowley declared, staggering upwards to circle the room.

"I...imag...imagine us, with a little bundle of joy, the perfect blend of yourself and I!" Aziraphale exclaimed, the corners of his bright eyes suddenly welling with tears. "Oh, they would have petite toes, skin of silk! Oh, they would be the most charming child ever to grace any plane of existence!" With every word the fair-haired angel spoke, his voice cracked more and more.

"Ob...obviously," Crowley drawled, twirling his wine glass as he paced the apartment floor. "Obviously, we can't carry it ourselves! Demon!" he declared, gesturing towards himself.

"Angel!" Aziraphale pointed wildly towards himself.

"Probably explode!" they both hollered in near-flawless unison, giggling with delight.

"It would take a miracle for us to have a baby! A real miracle!" Crowley declared, twirling dramatically around the room. Like many of the previous statements uttered under this drunken stupor, this sentence was greeted by mirthful laughter and snorting. However, once their chortles had died down to dust, Crowley gave himself a firm shake.

"Time to sober up?" he enquired, peering at his platinum-haired partner, his snake-like eyes glazing over. 

"Quite," Aziraphale agreed, straightening his spine out as he set his empty glass on the coffee table.

Straining heavily with concentration, the various bottles and glasses that were dotted around the room gurgled, filling with all of alcohol that had been consumed over the last couple of hours. Once every last droplet had returned to the bottles, the angel and the demon shivered. Partially from the chilly English weather, partially from the jarring sensation of being sobered up.

"Right, angel," Crowley addressed Aziraphale, heading towards their bedroom in the far side of the snug apartment, leaning against the door-frame. "Bed?"

After getting a grasp on his surroundings, Aziraphale peered up at the fiery demon, giving him a tender smile. "Bed," he agreed. As he stood up from the mustard chaise lounge, he peered out of the window. A combination of iridescent starlight and the warm glow of the street lamps illuminated the place the pair came to call 'home'. Gazing out of the window, Aziraphale sighed at the odd tranquility of the scene. It was late - it was time to go bed.

*

Aziraphale woke up bleary eyed the following morning, the soft chirping of the city's birds awaking him from his slumber. Groaning, he shifted himself up in the bed. Typically, he didn’t tend to go to sleep, finding the entire ordeal of 'going to sleep' rather asinine. However, since moving in with Crowley, the prospect of going to sleep when dusk came had gradually become more appealing. 

"Morning, angel," Crowley chirped, joining the birds in their merriment. His silk sable pajamas rustled as the demon walked, adjusting his sunglasses with one hand, a cup of hot cocoa nestled in the other. 

"Ah, Crowley. Morning, my dear," the ethereal man replied, propping up the fleecy pillows to behind his head. His blond curls stuck up wildly, a sight that made Crowley smirk.

"Hot cocoa?" the demon offered, holding the angel-wing mug out, his wedding band tapping against the ceramic mug.

"Ah, yes, thank you," Aziraphale thanked his husband, giving him a bright, euphoric smile. As he took the mug from Crowley, the angel felt the mattress sink as the occultist figure propped himself on top of the duvet.

"What time is the shop opening today, angel?" Crowley enquired, interlinking their hands and gazing at the other man in the bed. Slurping the liquid from his cup, Aziraphale nestled the mug between his blankets and assorted cushions. "I believe that eleven o' clock would be perfectly adequate!" Aziraphale decided, his mind filling with thoughts of parchment and leather. It was idyllic.

However, this serene train of thought was interrupted by the bedroom telephone ringing. Aziraphale sighed; he had always hated having his thoughts interrupted, something he had despised since the Garden of Eden. Grumbling and cursing all higher authorities under his breath, Crowley swang his legs over the edge of the bed frame and retrieved the phone.

"Hello?" Crowley answered, holding the cream coloured phone to his ear, twirling the coiled cable in his fingers. "Yes, yes, this is Antony J. Crowley, how can I help you?" he responded to the person on the line, his tone sounding somewhat irritated. He raised his eyebrows at Aziraphale.

"Yes, Mr Fell is also here."

This caused Aziraphale to direct all attention towards the phone. People over the telephone rarely asked for the both of them. Therefore, Aziraphale decided, it must be rather important.

Placing his mug on the nightstand, Aziraphale padded over to the small desk that housed the bedroom telephone, an ancient relic of technology that he had clung on to. Shifting towards Crowley, the demon tilted the phone slightly in order to allow both of them to hear the friendly-sounding woman on the line.

"My name is Debbie Paip, and I am a social worker at Guiding Light fertility and adoption agency," she introduced herself, her formal yet amiable tone filling the room.

'Fertility agency?' mouthed Aziraphale in confusion, Crowley crinkling his noise in response. Clearly, neither of them knew what was happening.

"I am calling to inform you that a surrogate has been found for both of you, and I am very happy to report that she has conceived a child with the genetic material of the both of you."

Crowley almost dropped the phone in surprise.

"Congratulations," she continued. "You're going to be fathers!"

After a brief moment of mouth-fishing, Crowley brought the phone up to his mouth.

"Oh, erm. Thank you. Should we take down your details, or..?" he enquired, miracling up a pen and a piece of paper as he spoke to her. After he wrote down the details of the agency and the 'mother of their child', he bid a warm farewell to the woman, and slammed the phone on to the cradle.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit, SHIT!" he declared, the muscles in his arms tensing and his scarlet tresses bouncing as shook his head. Aziraphale simply slumped down on to the bed, utterly perplexed. 

"How in... SOMEBODY'S NAME did this happen?!" the demon demanded, running his hand through his hair. The pair of them sat in uncomfortable silence for about three minutes.

"Last night!" Aziraphale's mind suddenly kicked into high gear, relaying the drunken events of the night before. "You said that it would be a miracle to have a child that was truly ours!"

"And the universe only went and bloody did it!" Crowley responded, his volume edging towards a shout. Oh, he knew that mixing alcohol was a hellish idea, but he never expected this to happen because of it!

As the realisation sank in, Crowley and Aziraphale simply gave a knowing look to each other. Deep down, despite it arising in a rather unexpected way, they did kind of want this. It's not like they hadn't discussed this prior to this... arrangement.

Edging away from the wall towards their marital bed, Crowley plopped down on to the mattress next to Aziraphale, both men releasing a hefty sigh.

"We're going to be parents," stated Crowley, staring at the olive wallpaper.

"We're going to be parents," echoed Aziraphale, before giving the demon a hopefully encouraging smile. "Well, I'll be damned!"


	2. End of the Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, this hasn't been beta read, so please inform me of any errors!
> 
> Special thanks to the Good Omens discord :)

It had been five minutes. Just five since Crowley had slammed the phone into the cradle. Just five minutes since the angel and the demon had comprehended the fact that they were going to become fathers. Just five minutes since the world they once knew ended.

The remainder of the world continued to idle on by, attending to their usual business, blissfully unaware of the metaphorical explosion that had occurred in the flat above the antique bookshop. On one side of the bed was Crowley, his amber eyes practically aflame with confusion and a slight sense of anger. His pyjama shirt sleeves were shoved up to his elbows, one hand spread across his mouth. On the other side of the bed, Aziraphale's face held an expression of pure anxiety, his pale blue eyes tracing the track-lines in the carpet. In all honesty, he felt incredibly unsure about this change in circumstances. 

"Is it too late to miracle the baby away?" he blurted out quietly, his fingers dancing across the rumpled duvet covers towards Crowley's free hand. Sharply, Crowley's head whipped round to face Aziraphale, giving the angel a faint burst of déjà vu from their meeting in Rome. Crowley sighed, "Probably not. Such a massive miracle would have taken almost every particle in the stratosphere to form both the baby and the memories of the... surrogate... person. Miracling the kid away now would break something, or someone!" Crowley's face twisted into an expression of pity, of momentary pain. It made Aziraphale's heart shatter.

"So..." Aziraphale started, unsure of how he should phrase his words. "Fathers?"

"Fathers," Crowley replied, shuffling closer in order wrap an arm around his holy husband. "What would the Almighty think of this?"

"You think that She would be displeased?" Aziraphale questioned, his forehead creasing with yet more thoughts of worry and possible consequences.

*

The occultist beings (or ethereal, as in the case of London's resident angel) would have anticipated a reaction of anger, utter fury, displeasure or something along the lines of a negative reaction, possibly a letter of warning to both upstairs and downstairs to prepare their weapons. What neither Crowley nor Aziraphale would have imagined is God racing at the speed of heavenly light around the abyss of the universe out of utter euphoria. After approximately 6,001 lengthy, dull, agonising years of tumble weed, She had finally had the pleasure of observing their courtship, their marriage and now their tumble into parenthood, despite the unusual circumstances. There were letters to write to both Beelzebub and Gabriel, expressing both God's opinion on the matter (which was an ardent and positive one), whilst also expressing a clear threat of destruction by holy water and hellfire respectively to any entity on either side who wished to cause trouble. She would NOT have six millennia of waiting ruined by some bumbling demon or angel who wished to stir up trouble. For now, She had to clean up the infinite supply of popcorn that She had been clinging on to since the Garden of Eden, which had inadvertently been spilled in the excitement. 

*

Naturally, the bookshop never opened that day. The owners obviously had far too much to process, and they needed some time to get used to the idea that there was soon to be a tiny child occupying the space. 

"NOW, GROW BETTER!"

Crowley had decided to take his frustration and tension with the universe out on his houseplants, who had gradually grown more and more petrified over the course of the last hour. Three runts of the collection had been disposed of due to excessive leaf spots, and Crowley's tone had become more and more snake-like as time wore on.

"SSSSSSSS...TUPID PLANTSSSSSS!" the demon hissed, his hands morphing into claws, both in the metaphorical and the literal sense, as he dowsed them in water vapour.

"My dear," Aziraphale cautiously poked his head from around the corner of the door, trembling as much as the foliage. "Don't you think you should find something else to do?" he asked timidly, flashing a swift and gentle grin at his demonic husband. Glaring at his plants, Crowley huffed and placed his mister spray bottle on the gardening shelf on the wall. As it turned out, the gardening had not calmed Crowley in the slightest. Within a couple of seconds of returning the mister to the shelf, the demon's skin gradually raised into a sequence of scales, reminiscent of a serpent's. His irises expanded and conquered any traces of white in his eyes, his skin becoming a furious tint of red. 

"Oh. Oh, I thought the Great blasted Plan was bad, BUT THIS TAKES THE CAKE, ANGEL!" he roared. "I'm a DEMON, I'm not nice, I'm not meant to be nice in the SLIGHTEST! But parents bloody are! Now, you listen to me!" Crowley bellowed, storming over to Aziraphale, forcing his back to the wall. "I've been to hell, I have to live and breathe the damn place, but as it currently stands, this situation is far, far worse, because I will never be ready, because demons don't become parents, especially with ...angels!" he spat out the words like a curse, his blood boiling in his veins. Despite this impressive, yet terrifying display of fury and frustration, it abruptly came crashing down, the sense of fury dispersing rapidly, leaving Crowley in a crumpled state, a damaged heap on the floor surrounded by his houseplants. Sympathetically, Aziraphale sank down to the floor to join him, engulfing his husband into a comforting hug.

"I'll never be ready, angel," came a choked out response, an empty feeling sweeping over Crowley. 

"No one is ever ready, my dear," Aziraphale replied softly, running his fingers through the crimson locks of the demon. "No one is ever, truly ready, from what I understand ."

"It feels like I'm falling again," Crowley hoarsely whispered, wiping his eyes and producing a pair of sunglasses from the pocket of his leather jacket, placing them on his nose. He never wore glasses when he gardened- the sight of his eyes added to the fear of the foliage.

"Don't worry, my dear. This will be the most charming journey of your life," the angel reassured, giving Crowley a tender smile and kiss on his forehead. “Trust me.” 

A limp, but present smile appeared on the demon's face. He felt the broken pieces of himself converge and form again, his irises shrinking and the scales submerging themselves into his skin, returning his flesh to a more human appearance; maybe it would turn out like the Armaggedeon That Wasn't. Yes, in the beginning, the prospect of it would seem utterly horrific and a diabolical mess, but it would all turn out okay in the end. It would turn out okay once they were here.

*

Following an hour or two of tending to his houseplants, albeit less harshly this time, Aziraphale and Crowley, both sporting similar scowls, were burning holes into the telephone in the living room. 

"This is what humans do, isn't it, angel? Call their 'loved ones'?" Crowley enquired, the prospect of having 'loved ones' (aside from Aziraphale) causing him to feel nauseous.

“Well, yes, I've heard of other people doing it!” Aziraphale pleaded, attempting to convince his demonic partner that this would be a somewhat adequate next move. The fact that he was fiddling with the hem of his jumper and his bow-tie didn't strengthen his argument.

“Oh yeah, let's do that!” the demon jeered, his arms switching from being folded tightly across his scarlet shirt and inky tie to being propped on either side of his hips. "Yes, yes, madams and sirs who we've only conversed with once - we want to gleefully impart to you that we are having a child that is completely and biologically ours, and we expect you to share our merriment! Please send booties!" Crowley adopted a nasally and mocking tone, clearly sceptical of the idea.

"Oh hush, it will be fine!" the more heavenly supernatural entity scolded the more hellish of the pair, giving him a light slap on the arm. After hurriedly apologising for the 'assault', Aziraphale grabbed the phone, and dialled the first number.

*

Meanwhile, whilst this conversation was occurring in the couple's apartment in Soho, Madame Tracy was bustling into the shared accommodation of her and Sergeant Shadwell with a tea tray.

"Ah, Jezebel, tea," the elderly Scot announced to no one in particular, folding his broadsheet. 

"Shadwell, I just brought you a nice cup of tea, hope you've got the cups from earlier!" the medium gave an amiable smile to the Witchfinder Sergeant. Just as Shadwell leant over the table to return the chipped and stained china, the telephone propped on the wall shrieked, startling the woman, sending the tea tray and its contents soaring into the air. After giving a tired sigh in her direction, he plodded towards the phone, lifting it to his ear.

"Aye?" Shadwell gruffly answered, pinning the receiver to his ear with his shoulder while he ducked down to help Madame Tracy tidy up the broken cups and teapot.

"Ah, Shadwell, its Crowley,"the voice of the demon responded, his tone riddled with something resembling uncertainty.

"Young Mister Crowley, what can ah do ya for?" 

"Well," Crowley drawled, dancing poorly around his thoughts. "Me and Aziraphale-"

"Southern pansy..." Shadwell grumbled under his breath, barely audible, yet still heard by the demon on the other end of the line.

"Yes, him, but this is important! Is Tracy there?" he enquired impatiently.

"Aye, aye, she's here wi' me."

"Great. Long and short of it is that me and Aziraphale are having a kid."

This statement caused a knee-jerk reaction in Shadwell, causing him to fumble with the tea cup and drop the phone. 

"Ye' WHAT?!" he bellowed into the phone as he picked it up, his accent fluctuating in unison with his volume.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, confusing, but the angel thought that we should tell... people. I don't really know!" Crowely rambled, blatantly as confused and unsure as the Scotsman he was chattering to. "That's all, any questions, just don't bother. Ciao!" 

Humming across the line like a bee, a piercing tone rang through the phone- Crowley had hung up.

After returning the phone to its rightful place, Shadwell slowly turned towards Madame Tracy, who had spent the entire conversation recollecting broken pieces of china before mopping up the battered carpet. 

"Something wrong, Mister Shadwell?" the 'harlot' asked with an uneasy tone, placing the tea tray and the broken bits of crockery on to the tiny table in the middle of the room. In response to this rather innocent question, the woman received a shellshocked gaze from the elder man. How on Earth was he going to explain this?

*

"Anathema Device speaking!" the chirpy American answered, holding her mobile phone up to her ear. Her and Newt, her rather long-term boyfriend at this point (contrary to their first meeting, they decided to take this new relationship as slow as a tortoise) were preoccupied with a picnic on the meadows of Tadfield, sipping lemonade in the rather pleasant breeze when her phone began to chime.

"Ah, yes, Miss Device, how are you?" Aziraphale piped up, his somewhat-affectionate tone undoubtedly masking something more troubling.

"I'm... fine, thank you, Aziraphale, how are you?" the young woman responded, wasting no time getting to the root of the issue.

"Is that... is that the angel bloke?" Newt questioned, his awkward demeanour causing him to bump the wicker basket with this leg, causing a chain reaction of bouncing glasses.

Hushing her partner slightly, Anathema returned her full attention to the flustered angel on the phone.

"I'm doing jolly good, thank you! All tickety-boo!" the flaxen gentleman returned, coughing slightly.

"That's good to hear! And is there also something you wish to speak to me about?" 

"Ah, yes, I suppose so. Crowley told me that I mustn't lollygag about this!" the angel tittered nervously. "MeandCrowleyarehavingababy!" he unexpectedly garbled out a long series of words, a miniscule squeak emerging from the ethereal entity's mouth. Even Newt looked up in startled surprise upon hearing these words.

"What? Are you kidding me? Congratulations, that's incredible but... how on Earth did that even happen, Aziraphale?!" the lady questioned, equal parts pleased for them and perplexed by the situation, switching her mobile to speaker mode in order to allow both herself and her boyfriend to listen in. 

"It's a rather complicated affair, involving oodles of wine and a few choice words- n-no swear words, by the by, when I say that!" Aziraphale explained.

"O-oh, hello, Mr Aziraphale, congratulations on the sprog!" Mr Pulsifer nattered to Aziraphale, clumsily forming sentences as he tried to contribute to the conversation.

"Oh, hello, greetings, young Mr Pulsifer! Thank you, I think, neither of us are quite sure in regards to how this situation arose," Aziraphale responded, the faint response of "damn right!" being contributed by Crowley over his husband's shoulder.

"Well, we just wanted to call and let you know, since you are both relatively important people in our lives!" Aziraphale cheerfully stated, a gargantuan weight relieved from his shoulders, as if every plane of existence had decided to give him some breathing room. "Anywho, me and Crowley must get a wiggle-on, so we'll talk to you soon! Oh, and make sure to let the Them know! Farewell!"

And with that, Aziraphale hung up the phone, leaving the twosome in Tadfield to return to their picnic, this new knowledge now joining the array of sandwiches and crisps.

*

Blaring noisily across the tarmac outside, the endless series of traffic rumbled throughout London, providing a sense of ambience to the streets. Slouching back into the chaise lounge, Aziraphale and Crowley briefly contemplated having a glass of wine; the pair, recollecting the past twenty-four hours, had decided against it. Neither man had a burning desire for twins, or a half-dog-half-cat creature. 

"So," Crowley started, shifting slightly in order to allow his husband in squirm closer into his side, wrapping an arm around the azure-eyed man. "We've told the humans who matter that our little drunken mistake has led to the upcoming and impending arrival of our child, an entity of all walks of life."

"Yes, my dear, we have," Aziraphale confirmed, miracling the fireplace into life, the gentle glow of ochre highlighting the features of everything in the room. "This is going to be an interesting couple of months."

"Months?!" Crowley squawked, his face scrunching up. "Months?! Try several years, angel, and I'm willing to bet that eternity fancies a bit of a look in!"

"Yes, I suppose so," the angel replied, resting his head against the demon's chest. "Do you think we're going to be fine? You know, with this whole 'parenting' ordeal?" Aziraphale worriedly questioned.

"Don't worry, angel," Crowley responded, giving his husband a mellow, yet kind smile. "We will muddle our way through."

Relaxing back into the chaise lounge, the pair simply gazed at the crackling fireplace, eyes as vibrant as sapphire and topaz capturing every petite flicker and flame. Outside in the bustling streets of the city, any passerby who happened to peer into the windows would have just seen a doting couple enjoying a cosy night in, huddled away from the baltic air of the dusk...

Unbeknownst to them, the couple huddled together on the sofa were preparing themselves for the rest of their lives.


	3. Sparrow Lane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has not been beta read, so please inform me of any errors!
> 
> Special thanks to the Good Omens discord server :)
> 
> Any and all comments are very much appreciated!

"Of course, we can arrange that!" 

Peering up from his crumpled newspaper, Crowley silently observed the golden tresses of Aziraphale bouncing as he conversed with the unknown person on the telephone. Grumbling quietly to himself that it was probably not a crucial conversation, the demon returned his gaze back to his newspaper, attempting to absorb himself in some mundane human affair, strands of maroon hair wilting in front of his line of sight. Admittedly, it was all about Brexit, but personally, he had no qualms about helping with that mess- he just didn't take into consideration how that would affect him!

"Oh, yes, ma'am, we can come in around a fortnight! We have nothing in our diaries, to my knowledge!" 

'We' and 'our'. Those two terms caused Crowley's ears to perk up. So, this particular conversation did concern both of them. Also, it seemed that travelling would be involved; Crowley mentally made a note to stop off at the petrol station sometime in the coming days. Sighing to himself, he folded the newspaper and flung it carelessly towards the antique table in the corner. Unfortunately, Crowley wasn't blessed (or rather cursed) with above average hand-eye coordination skills, meaning that he missed the table entirely. Slowly sauntering towards his husband, the demon's snakeskin boots produced a rather echoey sound as he walked across the creaking floorboards- he never took his shoes off inside, much to Aziraphale's disdain.

"Yes, and we hope to have a pleasant meeting very soon! Cheerio!" Aziraphale peppily replied to the person on the other end of the line before gently returning the telephone back to it's rightful place. The angel turned around, and was greeted by Crowley's blank expression hovering over his shoulder.

"Oh, good lord," Aziraphale stated tenderly, despite the surprise he got a mere seconds beforehand.

"Who was that, angel?" Crowley enquired, leaning against the antique table that Aziraphale had insisted on keeping. A pair of azure eyes widened at the question.

"Oh, so, do you remember that baby we accidentally conjured up?" the angel asked, fiddling with his greatcoat. Crowley simply looked at him, as if to say that he obviously knew what he was talking about.

"Ah, well, I've been chatting to the surrogate! She's such a charming lady, and she's invited us to come and meet her before the baby comes!"

The demon paused, his eyebrows furrowed. It was bad enough that they were entirely unequipped (in all departments) to care for a child, now they have to interact and form friendships with other people? The thought made Crowley want to cut off the London's WiFi signal again.

"Fine, fine, we'll go," the demonic entity exhaled breathily, gazing at Aziraphale from behind his tinted glasses. "When and where are we seeing her?"

"May 4th!" Aziraphale replied promptly. "Three o' clock, Apartment 28, Kiseki House, Sparrow Lane." The angel's face glowed with hope and joy. Crowley was defenceless against this expression from his husband- all he could do was mirror it.

*

Wine. Bottles upon bottles of wine. Red, white, rose wine, the bottles brimming on the vast shelves of the supermarket.

"I thought our love of wine was horrendous," the demon muttered under his breath, twirling the wire basket between his fingers. Golden curls intermingled themselves with the glass bottles, Aziraphale browsing the aisle for the best (and cheapest bottle) of wine. As guests, they needed to make a good impression next week at the surrogate's house. 

"Wait," Aziraphale started, poking his head around the corner of the steel shelving unit. "Expectant mothers can't drink wine, or any other alcohol for that matter, can't they?"

The infernal creature groaned so loud that the other people in the shop craned their necks around to look at the man wearing sunglasses, even though it was the middle of May. 

"For the love of Eden, how can we forget?!" Crowley proclaimed. "Don't bother getting non-alcoholic wine - made sure the stuff was disgustingly vile. Not too fond of fruit juice either."

"My dear, we could always just get a cake!" Aziraphale suggested, picking up a bottle of blood red wine from the shelf. "Everyone loves cake. Shall we go to the bakery?"

Personally, Aziraphale wasn't fond of supermarkets. Too large, too sterile and the only books they sold were cheesy romance novels- the thought of one being in the house made his nose wrinkle. On the other hand, Crowley wasn't a fan of this type of shop for a whole host of reasons: there were never enough trolleys for everyone, the fish section made him gag and he would like nothing more than to send those blasted self-service checkouts back to their maker, which ,coincidentally, is him. The only redeeming factor was that they always had a whole host of romantic novels that Crowley enjoyed reading; not that he would ever admit it, least of all to his angel.

Wandering over to the bakery section of the supermarket, Crowley scanned the various display cases before selecting a chequered chocolate and vanilla sponge, slathered in an inch of chocolate buttercream swirls.

"This should do, angel; lift home?" the demon asked.

"Sounds delightful, my dear, but we should probably pay first!" Aziraphale grinned.

"Word of advice: don't use the self-service machines."

*  
Unlocking the door to the bookshop, the couple pushed the door open, intent on storing the cake and the wine in the kitchen. However, their plan was foiled by the presence of a motor-mouth angel.

"Afternoon, lovebirds!" Gabriel proclaimed, spreading his arms out as he leant back into Crowley's throne, one of the many pieces of furniture salvaged from the demon's former residence. Both the angel and the demon glared daggers into the archangel.

"You know, Gabe, most people either knock or wait for the occupants to come back from the shop," Crowley grovelled.

"Waiting is only for mortals, Crowley," Gabriel responded, folding his hands across his beige suit, leaning forward in the throne to peer at the shopping bag in his employee's hand. "How was... Sans-buys?"

"Sainsbury's was fine, Gabriel, and relatively quiet, too, for mid-day," Aziraphale answered, placing his hands behind his back. Even though the angel and the demon were on their 'own side', it wouldn't hurt to show a little respect to his superior. "What brings you here?" 

The archangel simply smirked, a broad smile spread across his face.

"Well, a little while ago, upstairs received a very strongly-worded letter from the Almighty," Gabriel began, fixing his cropped, hazel hair as he spoke. "Apparently, you two are expecting a tiny human-creature...thing?"

Aziraphale gulped; Crowley froze. 

"Kid, it's called a kid, Gabriel," the fallen angel rasped, his voice becoming serpentine and sharper. "Also, before you ask, yes, we're having a child." After he spoke, Crowley slithered closer to Aziraphale, wrapping a protective arm around the angel. This motion caused Gabriel to emit various noises of distaste. 

"Gross, but whatever," Gabriel continued, his American accent flooding the couple's ears. "Usually, Heaven and Hell would have some complaints about this, but we're not allowed to! Almighty's orders, She's very happy for you both, apparently." 

The husbands looked at each other, secretly filling with relief.

"So, I guess I'm required to congratulate you both on the little weasel, and Beelzebub sends their regards as well," the archangel stated, lifting himself from the chair.

"I best be off- I've got holy matters to attend to. Laters."

Exiting the bookshop, the celestial figure nonchalantly bade them farewell, striding down the street and out of sight.

"Oh, I do wish he wouldn't intrude!" the angel spoke, playing anxiously with his tie. Pulling him in closer, Crowley pressed a light kiss to his temple.

"Come along, angel.They know, and they can't do anything about it, alright? Can I tempt you with a cup of cocoa?"

*

There were many redeemable traits in Aziraphale. He was intelligent, he was affectionate and above all, he was kind. However, he was not fashionable in the slightest, which is why he was now gawking at the shared wardrobe in their bedroom, contemplating his options of attire worriedly. Fortunately for him, Crowley was leering over his shoulder, helping him.

"Seriously, angel, is this all you've got?" Crowley questioned, an expression of disbelief twisting his face. "I don't see anything from after 1880 on your side! Are you sure that you don't want to borrow my clothes?"

"No, I'm sure, you know that black is not my colour!" the angel countered, gazing at the railings of garments. "I want to make a good impression! This is the woman who is delivering our child!"

After a fortnight of waiting, the 4th of May had finally arrived. Due to the angel's anxiety, he insisted that he and Crowley changed into something more approachable, with the occultist entity agreeing to the change, as long as whatever they wore was 'up-to-date'. Donned in a fresh pair of black jeans, inky dress shoes and a burgundy striped shirt under a blazer (yet again in a dark shade of charcoal), the demon was now trawling the wardrobe for something for his partner to wear. However, they were beginning to struggle; that was putting it lightly. 

"Well, you can't go wrong with jeans," the demon suggested, pulling a navy pair out from the darkest recesses of the wardrobe. "How long have these been buried for?"

"Forty-five years," Aziraphale admitted. He tried them once in 1974, and he just felt out of place. The angel's vision was suddenly obscured by a sheet of denim.

"Put those on angel," ordered Crowley, now fully inside the wardrobe. "Surely, you have a button up, or something?"

About ten minutes and one gargantuan heap of fabric later, a faded sky-blue button-up had been recovered. 

"Suspenders would also work with this. Just shove your usual shoes on, and then you're done!" Crowley announced, waving an open hand over his hair, returning it to its typical scarlet quiff. Following a few moments of fumbling, Aziraphale was now adorned in the navy jeans, secured in place by a pair of suspenders running across the top of his button-up, the sleeves rolled up to the elbow.

"My dear, are you sure that this looks up to snuff?" the angel enquired, alternating between adjusting the sleeves of his shirt and tufts of his tresses. 

"Yeah, yeah, you look charming, angel, it suits you," Crowley confirmed, twirling the keys to the Bentley in his hand. "Come along, angel. Sparrow Lane, you said?"

Locking the door to the bookshop behind them, the two supernatural beings clambered into the car. Within seconds, there were sparks shooting out of the exhaust pipe as the machine raced like lightning down the streets of London, the sound of Queen blaring out of the windows as the golden-haired angel clung on to the cake they bought for dear life.

*

Gently looping through the olive leaves of the trees, the light breeze of early May danced through the foliage. Faint beams of sunlight highlighted the russet brickwork of an apartment block that was towering over the two men sat in the Bentley. Ivory, volumous clouds seemed to be grazing the building. 

"Here we are! Kiseki House," Aziraphale announced, leaning back into the leather upholstery of his husband's non-living pride and joy. He, obviously, was the true pride and joy of the demon's existence. 

Stepping out of the car, Crowley slid his glasses doen to the bridge of his nose to get a better look at the building. After a few moments of observation, he returned them to their usual place. Sparrow Lane had one foot in either camp, with the two camps being rather pleasant and rather scruffy. Once upon a time, the marble embellishments had been gleaming, and this would have been quite a well-to-do area. Nowadays, weather had worn its glory days, and Kiseki House had become a set of council flats- the surrogate of Crowley and Aziraphale was in one of them.

"Hope you like stairs, angel," announced the demon as he raced up the stairs. Groaning slightly, Aziraphale quickly hotfooted after him, trying to retain every ounce of breath he could save. Needless to say, he was out of breath once he reached the fourth floor. Crowley leant forward on his toes and knocked on the door, which was opened a few seconds later by a sweet-tempered woman, tightly-coiled onyx hair bouncing above her dark-skinned shoulders. A warm smile greeted the two men.

"Ah, hello! You two must be the fathers!" the woman greeted, pulling the hem of her lilac shirt down as she spoke - the slight curve of her stomach was causing the fabric to ride up. It took a few seconds for the men to process this statement.

"Oh, yes, that's us! I'm Antony, Antony Crowley," the demon (naturally, the girl stood before them was blissfully unaware of this fact) introduced himself, shaking the woman's hand. 

"Yes, greetings! I'm A.Z Fell, it is absolutely marvellous to meet you! And you are?" Aziraphale asked, also shaking the woman's hand, tucking the cake under his arm.

"I'm Freya McCarthy!" Freya replied, returning the hand shake before stepping aside at the door. "Please, please, come in!"

Taking up the woman's invitation, the supernatural couple entered her flat. Like the vast majority of flats in London, a more forgiving term for the place would be 'cosy'- the living room and the kitchen were combined together, and there were two smaller rooms shunted off to the side, presumably the bedroom and the bathroom of the flat. Aziraphale and Crowley shuffled on to her worn leather sofa, wiping their shoes on the welcome mat as they entered. Freya took the cake out of the angel's hands, promising to find some plates in a few minutes.

"Tea, coffee?" Miss McMarthy asked the pair, currently drinking in the decor. 

"Neither for me please," Aziraphale politely replied, sitting up straight and maintaining direct eye contact. 

"Black, eight sugars," Crowley commented, receiving a slight nudge from his husband. "If you would be so kind."

As Freya bustled into the kitchen to produce a cup of black coffee with an obscene amount of sugar, the more heavenly of the pair decided to make conversation.

"So, Freya. You seem like a lovely girl! Would you like to tell us a bit more about yourself?"

"Well," the woman chuckled slightly, her hazel eyes shining. "I work as a nurse, Sunday to Thursday, usually nights. Interesting job, and I never get bored of it!" 

"Ah, that's about the same for us! I run a bookshop!" Aziraphale responded.

"When he decides to open it," Crowley chips in, lounging across the couch.

"I'm also thirty," the woman continued as she brought over Crowley's coffee. The mug was a metallic black with shiny crimson devil horns printed on it. "I must say, when your file popped up, I immediately wanted to meet the pair of you!"

This caught Crowley's attention.

"May I ask why, Miss McCarthy?" he asked suspiciously.

"Well," she started, propping herself in the armchair in the corner. "I've wanted to be a surrogate and provide a couple with a child for some time- think it's an amazing thing, giving someone a kid to fuss over. And the agency called a couple of months ago, explained that after what seems to be 6,000 years together, you were both finally, finally ready to be dads! So, I just jumped at the chance, and here we are!" Freya grinned. The couple also grinned, but for completely different reasons. Fabricated memories, they told themselves, covering up the fact that several weeks prior, she was not even pregnant. "That, and it's a bit of extra cash - I need to get out of this place, the mould is horrendous." 

This made Crowley chuckle- there was a different side, a devilish side to this girl.

"Well," Aziraphale continued, "I hope that we will become quite chummy with each other!"

"Splendid!" the nurse confirmed, playing with her tresses. "Oh, and I'm so sorry that we didn't tell you both sooner! Just wanted to have the first scan to make sure the little one was all well and good!"

Aziraphale assured her that this was perfectly fine; Crowley gave a positive grunt.

"You are both welcome to come to the next one! St. Michael's Hospital on the 31st this month."

"Great!" the fallen angel spoke, adjusting his glasses. "We did bring a cake - I'm not fond of the stuff, but can I tempt you two with a slice?" Crowley winked at Aziraphale from behind his glasses as he spoke. Freya saw this, and smirked.

"It looks like you're after another type of cake, in my eyes!"

So, as crumbs were spilled and stories were shared, Mr Fell, Mr Crowley and Miss McCarthy all howled with joy and laughter into dusk, forming a bond that they would all share for the rest of their days. Like spotlights, radiant stars peppered the sky, outshining the flickering amber streetlights, the horizon peered into the window of Apartment 28. Perching on the windowsill, the feathers of a snowy dove shimmered in the starlight,and simply watched. It watched the beginning of new memories shared between an angel, a demon and the maiden of Sparrow Lane.


	4. Muddling Through

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, this hasn't been beta read, sop please inform me of any spelling, grammar or continuity errors that arise!
> 
> Special thanks to the Good Omens discord server :)

If, or when, something slides through the letterbox of the bookshop, it is typically addressed to one of two people: Mr. A.J. Crowley or Mr. A.Z. Fell. 

Antony J. Crowley had been the moniker of the demon since the Second World War, even though he still wasn't entirely sure what the initial in the middle stood for (experiments with names such as 'John' and 'Jacob' felt a bit squirm-at-your-feet-ish, so he settled for it being 'just a J. really').

On the other hand, Aziraphale had had more alias changes than a failing comedian on the circuit. Abel, Abraham, Zephi, Zacharias. Six-thousand years down the line and millions of names had bore no fruit. Aziraphale had given up somewhere around the Edwardian era, choosing just to stick with two, mysterious letters.

It was incredibly rare for a parcel to drop in for them both. It was practically unheard-of.

Slipping through the metal frame of the heavy oak door, a bulky object, wrapped in tawny paper, cascaded to the door-mat. Clouds of dust spiralled into the air as soon as it made an impact on the floor, startling the angel. Sighing, yet curious, he rose from his chair and paced towards the door.

"Crowley!" called Aziraphale, picking up the object with both hands, using his sleeve to brush off some of the dust. "A parcel's arrived!"

Needless to say, the fair-haired gentleman was expecting sleek, snake-skin boots and crimson waves of hair to descend the stairs. Instead, an ebony, sleek snake came slivering down the banister of the stairs, wrapping itself around the polished grain of the wood. Once the creature had crawled across the worn panels of the bookshop floor, the scales of the serpent expanded and stretched, long locks protruding from its head, morphing into something resembling a human. Splitting, its tail divided, forming a pair of legs, a tornado-like aura wrapping pieces of fabric around the entity. Bones and teeth widened the creature's head, its skin tone becoming lighter and smoother, amber eyes glowing.

"Who's it for, angel?" Crowley enquired, stretching his arms and fingers until the scales crackled away.

"Both parties," Aziraphale replied, handing over the parcel to his husband, the intertwined gold and onyx wings on the wedding band snagging the flimsy string on it. 

Flipping the parcel over, a small sheet of paper was pinned to the back, stating that if the package ever needed to be returned to its sender, it should be returned to Miss F. McCarthy.

"Whatever it is, it's from Freya," Crowley raised his eyebrows as he unwrapped the unexpected present. As the scraps of paper fell gracefully to the floor, what remained was a rather thick book. The angel's eyes lit up; the demon's eyes faded with disappointment.

"Oh, how wonderful!" Aziraphale gleamed, his expression glowing as bright as the stars. "You can never have too many books, I say! It doesn't look like a first edition though, that's a shame."

Flipping the book over, an obnoxious magenta cover greeted him, vinyl white letters screaming 'From Dumb to Dad: The Ultimate Parenting Guide'. As he did so, a small letter, written in looping, yet neat, print fluttered towards the floor before Aziraphale caught it.

"'Dear Antony and A.Z., I saw this little gem at WH Smiths (not an obscure book-dealer, sorry A.Z.) and immediately thought of you two. Don't have to read it, and I know that Antony probably won't, but it's here in case any of you get bored. See you soon, love Freya," the angel read aloud, a pair of small-rimmed glasses appearing on his nose. "'P.S: Tell Tony to look-up 'Mumsnet'- I know he's more tech-savvy than A.Z.!"'

"Well, angel, she was certainly correct about the book bit- I don't read books," Crowley stated, leafing through the pages of the offending item, glaring at the black text and diagrams. "Think Ligur invented Mumsnet, once he figured out how the computer Downstairs worked!"

"Might have a quick glance at this later. It was gracious of her to send us this, my dear boy."

Crowley wrinkled his nose. 

"Y-yeah, whatever, it's yours to read. I'll look on Mumsnet later, or something. Let's have lunch or something," the demon announced, unslinging his leather jacket off the coat rack, grabbing Aziraphale's in the process. "Where to, angel?"

After a few minutes of contemplation, the celestial being settled on the 'Silver Canary', a delightful little establishment that served some of the most exquisite pavlova Aziraphale had ever tasted.

"It's divine, Crowley, and it's only a short trot from here!" the angel remarked, pulling on his Victorian coat. "I believe that a table has miraculously become available!"

Grinning tenderly at each other, the demon held his hand out for his angel, a hand that was accepted. With intertwined fingers, the pair departed the bookshop, strolling towards the restaurant together.

*

The Silver Canary was one of those places where it was completely hidden from sight unless you knew where you were looking. Aziraphale happened to be someone who knew what he was looking for. Tucked away in the upper floor of a nightclub, the restaurant was only accessible by a set of ornate metal stairs, and the dining area itself was no larger than a decently-sized dance-floor. Despite this, the waiting staff and the chef were all pleasant people, and the decor was astonishing. Dark slate wallpaper, woven with silver speckles covered the walls, an antique glass chandelier illuminated the entire room with a radiant, soft glow and several art pieces in metallic frames hung off the walls. The scents of the kitchen constantly floated into the room as well. It was clear to see why Aziraphale suggested this place. 

"Think Aziraphale, in a couple of months, we won't be able to do spontaneous restaurant visits anymore," Crowley contemplated sadly into his wine glass, rotating the glass as it captured every glimmer of light. "We'll have to get a baby-sitter."

"Oh, I really don't want anyone to sit on the baby. I imagine that it would be quite painful!" Aziraphale replied anxiously between bites of lemon curd and passion fruit pavlova.

"No, no, I think it's a person we pay to look after the kid while we go off for a bit."  
"How on Earth do you know that?"

"That website Freya suggested, 'Mumsnet'. You were admiring the art-work and I got tired of waiting for the pavlova to arrive," Crowley admitted, sipping his drink. "Honestly, it's a bigger hell-hole than Hell itself! So many bitchy parents, using weird acronyms, blasting each other's parenting decisions!" chortled the demon, grabbing a fork and scooping a small chunk of his husband's dessert. Not that Mr Fell minded. "I mean, an argument over whether a nine-year-old should have a mobile phone! Those bastards at Head Office could have never invented stuff like that!"

Even Aziraphale had to chuckle at that. It may have been a nervous chuckle, the sort of tittering sound you make when you're secretly thinking 'that is actually hilarious, but I'm absolutely terrified of it happening to me, which it probably will' whilst waiting for the wine bottle to pass you by again. Fortunately, the kind waiter came round their table and topped their glasses up. Crowley raised his.

"To many challenges to come," he proposed, holding his glass out. The angel toasted him.

"To many challenges to come!"

*

After a few comfortable hours of 'wining and dining', Aziraphale and Crowley had settled into bed for the night, the parenting manual in the hands of one, a mobile phone lazily clutched in the hands of another.

"You know, I don't think this book is entirely accurate, Crowley," Aziraphale started, moving one hand to adjust his striped pyjama shirt, leaning against the upholstered backboard. "It says to swaddle the baby in eight blankets to prevent them from hypothermia! And that if they cry, the poor dear must be left alone to 'cry it out'!" 

His husband's face scrunched up as he said this, turning to peer at the angel with irises of disbelief. "Surely, that isn't right!" he questioned, leaning in closer (which was quite impressive, considering the fact that Crowley already had his head resting on Aziraphale's chest, both of their bodies entombed in a quilt the size of Everest). "Oh, you can't do that to kids!"

Both beings looked at the book in horror before the angel made the sensible decision of hiding it in the bedside drawer. 

"Nevertheless, it was a lovely present from Freya, and we can tell her that when we see her next week!"

"Look at this, angel! I'm telling you, Hell could never invent something like this!" Crowley exclaimed, passing his mobile phone over to the flaxen-haired man, his own fire-like tresses tickling his husband's chin.

"Pelting cakes at the mother-in-law?!"

"Yeah, and look at this one!"  
"'I'm terrified about someone coming into the child's bedroom'?!"

Two sets of wide eyes stared in disbelief at the website. The people on that site were nut-jobs. The demon turned slightly; he placed the onyx device on his bedside table.

"I believe it's time to retire for the night," Aziraphale stated.

"Yeah, me too. Is this going to be a night where you're going to sit there and read yourself into eternity, or are you actually going to sleep?" Crowley enquired, nestling in closer.

"Well, what would you like me to do?"  
In response, Crowley gave a neutral-sounding grunt.

"Right, dear. If that is okay with you, do you mind if I read for a few more hours before actually going to sleep?" Aziraphale compromised, raising his eyebrows, waiting for a response. The demon in the dark pyjamas mumbled something that vaguely sounded like 'do whatever, I don't mind...' before closing his eyes. He seemed to be trying to bury himself in Aziraphale's nightwear. The angel gave him a heavenly smile, before picking up the leather-bound bed resting on his bedside table.

"Goodnight, my dear boy," he replied, leaning back into the soft pillows. This arrangement was common. It was a notorious fact among their circle that Aziraphale hated sleeping, so he preferred to read. Sometimes, he could be persuaded to go to sleep, but those moments were rare. As such, compromises like this were common, not that either of them cared; as long as they were both cuddled up in bed together, neither Aziraphale or Crowley minded what the other did at dusk.

*

Aziraphale startled awake at around three o' clock in the morning, a stark, white light shining into his pale blue eyes.

'This is ludicrous!' was the angel's initial thought, swiftly followed by 'what on Earth could be causing the light? Crowley went to sleep hours ago!' 

However, when he peered down, he was greeted by the sight of the maroon-haired demon peering anxiously at his mobile phone, scrolling through the forum site they had both mocked earlier.

"Crowley?" he asked softly, his irises welling with worry. Suddenly, Crowley's head shot up, his golden eyes brimming with an emotion that the angel couldn't identify in the dark. 

"Oh, erm, do-don't mind me, angel," the demon meekly replied, attempting to hide the phone in the blankets.

"May I, erm, may I see the phone?"

To his slight surprise, he felt a weight being pressed into his hand and another weight burrowing farther into his chest. Quickly scrolling through the open tabs on the device, there seemed to be an emerging theme.

"My dear, you don't need to worry about a thing. You'll make a charming, a splendid parental figure!" Aziraphale commented, running his hand through his partner's hair.

"But those women are evil! Saying that this is right, but another person will say it's wrong, and it seems like everyone is both clueless and omni-bloody-potent at the same time!" Crowley garbled, his tone laced with both venom and fear. "What if we both end up being totally incompetent idiots?!" he hissed, sitting up abruptly to face the angel.

"Then, we will do what everyone else does!" he replied warmly. "We'll muddle through."

"Watch us screw up, angel, watch us screw up this kid, for somebody's sake," Crowley responded bitterly. Placing a hand on his back, the more holy of the couple (in theory) gazed directly at the more demonic of the pair (once again, in theory).

"Trust me- we'll be fine!"

"I saw your face in the restaurant, angel," the demon replied, his nimble fingers running across the surface of the bedspread. "You were as terrified as my damn houseplants, and we both know it."

Aziraphale deflated slightly.

"I must admit, I was ever-so-slightly fearful earlier, but just think, Crowley: millions, if not billions of humans have managed to do this, and they've done it multiple times! Like Pepper's mother and Adam and Sarah's parents."

"So, we'll just muddle through."

"We'll muddle through, dear."  
Giving a subtle smile to the angel, the occult being huddled closer in to him, muttering how 'muddle through' was such an odd phrase. As they collapsed back on to the bed and buried themselves under the covers, both men intertwined together, falling into a more relaxed slumber. 

It was just a matter of time until this type of sleep would be a distant memory.


	5. Ten Fingers, Ten Toes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, this chapter has not been beta read, so please inform me of any spelling, grammar or continuity errors!
> 
> Special thanks to the Good Omens discord :)

"If it's a boy, you can't choose Aaron, Crowley!"  
"Why not?"  
"It is always the first name in baby name books- everyone will think that we're lazy!"  
"For Hell's sake, Aziraphale, we don't even know if we're having a boy yet, please just put the book down! Your porridge is getting cold."

Sighing, the angel closed the book and returned it to the steadily-growing tower on the table, with every addition to the skyscraper of pages causing Crowley's coffee to rumble. Over the past couple of days, the flaxen-haired angel had been purchasing masses of baby name books, which had begun to spread like an infection across the kitchen table. Gradually, Crowley was having to slide his plate of toast (burnt to a crisp and slathered with three inches of blackcurrant jam, just how he liked it) closer to the edge. It was in severe danger of teetering off of the table and on to the demon's skinny jeans.  
Since the baby didn't exist when the alledged 'dating scan' took place, they had 'missed' it. However, one elephantine drunken mistake had occurred several months ago, leading to the abrupt existence of the (currently) unborn child of an angel and a demon.   
As a result of this, the celestial and infernal entities were now hastily preparing for the child's impending arrival.   
May 31st - the first of several important dates had arrived: the day of the anomaly scan. The day where Crowley and Aziraphale will be able to see their child with their own eyes. The day where they will learn the gender of the little tyke. Even though they were still relatively clueless regarding the universe of parenthood, they still understood that these procedures were significant. Frankly, Aziraphale was petrified; in all fairness, Crowley was too, but his 'cool and chic' exterior was shielding his sense of anxiety. 

Resting his head in his hands, the angel's face was buried in his palms, tufts of bleach-blonde hair poking through his fingers.   
"Maybe we should call the Youngs, ask them for advice?" emerged a muffled voice, the owner of said voice lifting his head up to look at his husband.  
"We could do, we could call Newt and Anathema later as well. Don't forget that Shadwell and Madame Tracy are also dropping in after we come back from the ultra-noise... scan-thing later!" the fallen angel reminded him, patting him tenderly on the shoulder as he passed him on his way to the sink.   
"I think a visit to Sainsbury's will be necessary before we return," Aziraphale commented, scratching the underside of his chin with perfectly-manicured fingers. "That gentleman consumes more sugar than a confectioner!"  
As he rose from his place at the dining table, an antique relic salvaged from the Regency period, the angel delicately waved his hand over the table. Within a few moments, every parenting manual and baby-name book had ascended into the air, floating into place on to a lofty, elaborate bookshelf.   
"Shall we get on?" the demon enquired, already sliding on his leather jacket, the article of clothing squeaking as he tugged it over his slender arms.   
"Yes, quite. Where are we meeting Freya, again?" Aziraphale responded, adjusting his own cream coat as he rose.   
"St. Michael's Hospital, it's usually a forty minute drive."  
"Usually?"  
Crowley simply smirked before taking his husband's hand.   
"You know how I drive, angel."  
*

Hurtling along Oxford Street at the speed of light, the Bentley roared like a rocket down the street, swerving to avoid other cars, pedestrians and suicidal pigeons. Inside the car, Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate, was gripping to roof handle as if he were going to be imminently discorporated. There were many qualities that the celestial being adored in his infernal partner. However, his driving abilities weren't one of them.  
"I've already told you, Crowley, you can't do 90 miles per hour in central London!" he proclaimed, forcing his entire frame back into the seat.  
"I'm not doing 90 miles per hour, angel," the hellish being remarked, peering at the terrified gentleman in his passenger seat before giving him a devilish grin. Sparks flew from behind his tinted glasses. "I'm doing 100!"  
Groaning, a pair of azure irises squeezed shut, bracing himself for any impact. As the vintage vehicle hurtled across a speed bump, the couple were momentarily catapulted into the air before landing back in their leather seats.   
Crowley laughed, squeezing his husband's hand tightly as a form of reassurance.   
Aziraphale screamed, and mentally thanked the Almighty for the invention of seat-belts.   
All four wheels now firmly back on the tarmac, Aziraphale felt as though it were safe enough to open his eyes just a crack. The heavy bass beat of Queen replaced the sound of screeching wheels- 'Don't Stop Me Now', to be precise.  
"So, we're off to St. Michael's to see Freya's sonogram-thingy. Do you know what it's actually for?" the demon asked, groaning as their journey was interrupted by a red traffic light.   
"To my knowledge, it is a procedure used by doctors and it allows them to build an image of the baby in order to allow the prospective parents to view their offspring. It's brilliant, don't you think, dear?" the angel explained, gesturing with his hands in order to illustrate his point. Silence greeted him. "Crowley?"  
At this point, the Bentley was being operated due to muscle memory alone. Glassy-eyed and mouth agape, Crowley's eyes seemed to be burning holes through the road. Until the angel had tapped him on the shoulder, he might as well have been in an entirely different plane of existence.  
"We get to see the baby?!" he bellowed, the echo of a hiss resonating across his voice. "See every finger, every toe, in all of it's... baby-ness?"  
"Yes, I believe so."  
Crowley's face split into a grin, the edges of his mouth curving upwards, revealing his teeth. Revving the engine, the Bentley darted around traffic, veered around pedestrians clipped the curbs at break-neck speed.  
"Bring it on!"   
The occupants of the vehicle roared as loud as the engine, both entities sporting white knuckles and protruding veins; they couldn't arrive soon enough.

*  
Rapidly turning into an empty parking space, the jet-black doors of the Bentley swang open as soon as the rumble of the engine died down, two bodies sliding out of either side. One look rather frazzled, tufts of white hair sticking up at peculiar angles, his trousers and waistcoat entertaining a colossal quantity of creases. The other exuded refinement, not a single ruby hair out of place on his head. Locking the door with a click of his fingers, the pair took an opportunity to observe the scenery. Stark, sterile walls housed simple, yet sizeable windows, panes of glass spanning the large segments of the brickwork. Streams of people flowed in and out of the double doors. Cars bustled in and out of the car park similarly. In other words, it appeared to be a perfectly normal hospital.   
"Right," Crowley started, whipping out his phone. "Freya told us to go through the visitor's entrance and meet her at the-"  
The demon squinted at his phone, Aziraphale also squinting over his husband's shoulder.  
"-Diagnostic imaging department?" the angel finished, his voice laced with uncertainty as he looked up towards the building. Crowley huffed, shoving the phone into the front pocket of his sable jeans, adjusting the compact chain hanging from his belt loops.   
"We better get a wiggle-on then!" the holy figure proclaimed, beaming jubilantly. Strutting towards the entrance, the demon headed towards the department, his husband only a few paces behind him, muttering all the while about how 'wiggle-on' was a phrase he will never understand. 

*  
Finding the aforementioned department was like going on a wild goose chase through a maze. Between running around like idiots and asking the odd nurse for directions, Crowley had managed to fit in a call to their friends in Tadfield. Newt and Anathema were about to leave for a dinner date, but they sent their best wishes before they left; only Adam was around when the demon called, and he was rather perplexed too, but he also passed on his congratulations to the couple, as well as a message of good luck. It was a complete nightmare, and the only reason either of them ever made it to the appointment on time was because they managed to find Freya, who was perched in a lumpy chair in the lounge.   
"A.Z!" the woman greeted as she stood, engulfing Aziraphale in a hug which he gladly accepted, the surrogate's perm grazing his cheeks. Upon releasing him, she paced towards Crowley, a steely glint in her emerald eyes. After a brief moment of consideration, Miss McCarthy stretched a hand out for the red-maned man, giving him a firm, yet warm, handshake.  
"Tony," the female addressed him, a cheeky grin accompanying the handshake.   
"You know, Freya, there are only two people in this world who can call me 'Tony': A.Z, and yourself," Crowley remarked before leaning in to whisper into her ear. "Consider yourself lucky!"  
"Oh, don't worry, I will," she replied, releasing him, using her now-free hand to pull down the hem of her plum jacket. The bump had grown since their last meeting.  
"So, sonogram, all quite rousing, isn't it?" Aziraphale clasped his hands together in front of him, bouncing on the balls of his feet.   
"Oh, it is, if a bit odd," returned the woman, unzipping the jacket and throwing it into her canvas shopper. "Nothing to worry about though, so no need to flap your feathers, A.Z."

Despite knowing nothing about the couple's supernatural nature, 'flapping their feathers' seemed to be a rather accurate description for what Aziraphale had been doing in the run up to this particular day. Blighted by anxiety for the preparations of the forthcoming child (neither man could still believe that a few glasses of whisky-laced wine had led to such an existence-altering event), Crowley had returned home one evening and had been greeted by two vast, exquisite wings, immaculate feathers coating each one. Stretching his wings was a great form of stress relief for the angel, and his demonic darling knew this, so he didn't really mind. He even groomed them for him from time to time.

Following a few moments of polite conversation, a middle-aged woman with knotted hair and turquoise scrubs entered the room, announcing an appointment for 'A.Z. Fell, Antony J. Crowley and Freya Beatrix McCarthy'. Trailing the woman into a dim room, Freya propped herself on the cushioned ultrasound table, with the couple lowering themselves into two cracked, leather chairs. The nurse muttered something about the doctor before promptly leaving. Thankfully, a fair-haired man with chocolate irises entered the room, his hands buried in the fabric of his lab coat. Cheery would be an adequate word to describe him.  
"So incredibly sorry for the wait!" a rather bouncy voice emerged, his voice containing a rather pleasant lilt. Dark eyes darted around the room.  
"I'm assuming you two are the fathers?" he enquired, gesturing his pen to the angel and the demon in the chairs. "And that you are the surrogate?" the young gentleman continued, focusing on the sandy-brown toned lady on the table.   
"All correct, very well done, how'd you know that?" Freya asked, casually laying a hand across her stomach.   
"Well, it wasn't that hard, to be fair, if you don't mind me saying, gents... and lady!" the sonographer stuttered, his wide eyes racing from person to entity. Exhaling, he steadied himself. "It was quite simple really: the two men in the room have matching wedding rings on, whereas you, Miss, do not have any rings on!"   
"Oh, he's very good!" Aziraphale murmured to Crowley, who hummed in agreement.  
Abruptly, the man jumped slightly, as if he had seen something lurking in the corner of his eye.  
"Oh, how rude, I haven't introduced myself, I'm terribly sorry!" the sonographer remarked, before going around the room to shake everyone's hand before sitting in a chair by the monitor. "I'm Dr. Elijah Sante! I will be your sonographer today, and your doctor for the entire antenatal period!"  
Every sentence uttered by this man seemed to end in a grin.  
"Shall we get started? Miss..?"  
"Please, Freya is fine!" Freya responded, returning the man's beam.  
"Miss Freya, if you don't mind pulling your top up and your waistband down, we can get started."  
As the woman complied with the doctor's instructions, his attention turned towards the couple in the corner.  
"I'm assuming that this is a new experience for you both?" he enquired, preparing the equipment as he spoke.  
"Oh, yeah, very new, incredibly new for us," Crowley answered nonchalantly, slouching back into his chair. "We're utterly clueless, but most parents are! We'll muddle through, won't we, angel?"  
The fallen angel lifted his head towards Aziraphale, giving him one of his rare, affectionate smiles. Naturally, this smile was returned.  
"You two... are sweet, you'll make fantastic fathers!" Elijah commented, his joyful exterior never waning. "Now, Freya, the gel will be a bit cold when I apply it, but it's nothing to worry 'bout!"  
Translucent and thick, the doctor cautiously spread the gel across the bump of the dark-skinned woman, the celestial and infernal entities (once again, unbeknownst to the sonographer, who presumed them to be human) watching the procedure with curiosity.  
"Excuse me, good sir, what is the purpose of the gel?"Aziraphale enquired, his eyebrows wrinkling with confusion.  
"This, Mr...?"  
"Fell! A.Z. Fell!"  
"Ah, this, Mr Fell is to ensure that we get a decent picture of the baby, allows us a clear image to check for any issues we uncover!" Dr. Sante replied, the probe clutched in his hand as he adjusted the monitor. It was now pointed towards the other people in the room to allow them to see.  
"Now, shall we see how the little tyke is getting on?"  
As he ran the probe across Freya's bump, the prospective parents,the surrogate and the eager doctor all waited in anticipation for an image to appear on the screen. Eventually, a few speckles began to appear on the monitor, which then developed into the outline of a small figure. The form of a baby.   
Astounded silence filled the room; amber, sage, sepia and azure irises peered at the screen.   
"And there they are! I see no abnormalities here, no spinal issues, no muscular issues, no cleft lip," Elijah spoke softly, as he were terrified of ruining the atmosphere. He turned his gaze towards the cluster of people in the room. "In other words, they're perfectly healthy!"  
A small gasp escaped Aziraphale's lips. Crowley's eyebrows raised and his grip on his angel's hand strengthened. Freya was on the verge of blissful tears.   
"Would you like to know the gender of your baby?"  
This was a question that all three people already had the answer to.  
"Yes, please," Aziraphale replied, his heavenly heart hammering away in his chest.   
"Okay, just give me a moment."  
Every passing second seemed to make the heartbeat in everyone's ears louder and louder.  
"Congratulations," the doctor started, beaming impossibly wide. "It's a girl!"  
*

Euphoria and affection filled the Bentley as it drove back towards the bookshop, the prospective parents within it gabbling excitedly about the baby, their baby, their little girl.  
Upon returning to the bookshop in Soho, Crowley found an apologetic letter from Shadwell and Madame Tracy, telling them that they unfortunately couldn't make it, but that they hope that everything went as planned.   
Smiling as they stepped inside the bookshop, Aziraphale immediately miracled up a frame of sparkling silver, placing a photograph within it, placing the frame on the mantel-piece.  
Gazing upon the mantel-piece with elation, the angel and the demon shared a tender kiss, admiring the latest addition to the bookshop...  
The images from the sonogram. Their first picture of their little girl.


	6. Love Built In The Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this fic thus far! Once again, this hasn't been beta read, so please inform me of any grammatical, spelling or continuity errors.
> 
> Special thanks to the Good Omens discord :)
> 
> Please feel free to leave a comment - I always enjoy reading them!

As a demon, a fallen angel, a wily fiend, you would expect Crowley to be relatively fond of the colour orange. However, as it currently stood, Crowley's opinion of that particular shade was beginning to grow sour, as no matter where he looked, he was visually assaulted with the logo for B&Q. 

"I don't understand the mortals' obsession with feature walls anyway, angel," the demon complained, peering at yet another sample of sparkly wallpaper from behind his tinted sunglasses.

"Oh, shush, dear!" Aziraphale lightly scolded his husband, inspecting a pale sheet of wallpaper covered in cartoon animals. "It looks rather enchanting, if you ask me!"

"When did you find time to watch 'Homes Under The Hammer'?"

Isolated from everything else in an out-of-town shopping outlet, the couple were standing in the wallpaper aisle of a vast industrial unit, rows upon rows of wooden shelves lining each walk-way. The DIY store housed everything from garden supplies (Crowley made a mental note to browse their selection of houseplants later) to safety ladders.

Unrolling another yard of wallpaper, both the occultist entity and the celestial being squinted, the striking hues of the decor bombarding their eyes.

"Definitely not!" the angel announced, hastily rolling up the wallpaper and returning it to the shelf. "Oh, why can't we find anything that seems suitable?"

"Haven't a blasted clue," the demon remarked, shoving his hands into the pockets of his ebony skinny jeans, his crimson dress shirt tumbling out of his waistband. 

The pair of them were beginning to feel the pressures of time at this point, as four months until their daughter's due date had dwindled down into three months, which is why they were both sweltering in the heat of late June, flipping through paint samples and carpet options for the nursery. So far, they had obtained nothing.

"Well, this looks cool," Crowley stated, his slender fingers tracing over a dark-indigo roll of wallpaper, majestic nebulas and sparkling stars smattered across the darkness. Signalling his husband over, the blonde-haired and cerise-locked men both looked in awe upon the wallpaper.

"Oh, yes, this looks simply divine!" Azirphale sighed with bliss, his own fingers running across the paper's surface, before averting his azure-eyed gaze towards his fallen angel. "We must purchase it!"

Nodding, the demon selected three unmarked rolls of the wallpaper that caught their eyes, then set them down in their mesh shopping trolley. 

"I believe that paint is next on our shopping list!" the ethereal gentleman stated, a jovial smile spreading across his face, pushing the trolley towards the aisle. The demon quickly fell in step behind him. 

He released an exasperated sigh; he had always despised decorating.

*

"Angel, why must there be so many shades of white?" proclaimed the man in the sunglasses, which were now pushed up into his russet quiff. So far, they had been here for about three hours, and all they have accomplished was the selection of three rolls of wallpaper, one pasting table, a few packets of potting soil and enough paint rollers for a small army.

"Choosing the correct shade of white is a crucial decision in regards to decorating, my dear boy," Aziraphale explained, running his left hand through his platinum hair. "It is paramount that we select the correct one!"

Crowley groaned, before grabbing three metal cans of paint, passing one of them to his heavenly husband to hold.

"Dulux Easycare in the colour 'Pure Brilliant White'?" 

"It will do, as long as it adds colour to the walls, it will do!" the demon protested, shoving his shades down over his eyes. As soon as they had placed the paint into the trolley, the 'less-holy' of the pair gave a loving look towards Aziraphale. "Now, I believe that we just need to get some floorboards, and then we're free to leave this Hell-hole."

Steering the trolley in unison into the next aisle, they were instantly greeted by the sight of an infinite range of laminate floorboards. Their chattering and the squeak of the shopping cart came to a resounding halt.

"Satan, give me strength..." muttered Crowley. 

He needed a stiff drink.

*

The Bentley didn't skate into its typical parking spot outside the book-shop in Soho until six o'clock that evening. Being pressed against the steering wheel by five packs of ivory laminate floorboards, as well as a particularly stubborn roll of galactic wallpaper, was one of the most unbearable positions the 'diabolical' one had ever been in. 

Excluding the incident in 1388 that will never be spoken of.

It took an additional hour for them to transport everything from the vehicle to the spare room in the apartment. Compact, yet cosy, the room seemed to be the perfect fit for the impending child, and had enough space to allow for adaptions as she grew older. Rounded, lattice windows allowed an outlook into the bustling, engaging world that awaited her. In short, it was perfect.

"So," Crowley started, wiping his brow with the back of his hand, his jacket having been abandoned before they left the car that morning. "We've got all the decorating nonsense to do this week, and then what?"  
"Then we've got to visit IKEA next Thursday," Aziraphale replied, stacking the last of the floorboard packs onto the bare floor. "We can't really expect our little darling to sleep on the floor, can we?"

Knocking his head back, the demon dramatically groaned, his trademark sunglasses cascading to the bottom of the stairs of the bookshop.

"Must we, angel? You know how much you hate that place!"  
"I'm afraid we must, Crowley."

"One of my biggest regrets, you know," the occult entity stated, traipsing towards the sofa on the ground floor. With a click of his fingers, the radio flipped on, the faint sound of a classical tune floating out of it. "Creating flat-pack. The mortals somehow found a use for it! Despite how irritating it is.."

Collapsing into the fabric of the furniture, Crowley sighed, the angel trailing him down the stairs. Sliding off his argyle pullover before neatly hanging it on the coat-stand by the door, the ethereal man joined his husband, huddling close to him. 

"Just think, angel. In a mere three months, we'll be joining Freya and Dr Sante in St. Michael's hospital as the result of our little wish reveals herself to the world," the more demonic of the pair remarked, looping his arm around the more heavenly of them. 

"Oh, don't say that, you're making me all... fidgety!" Aziraphale complained, a tender edge to his voice- the panic still slipped through his tone, leading to Crowley to take both of his hands in his.

"Relax, angel. Yes, it may have began as a bit of a cock-up, but we will end up fine in the end," the hellish husband gazed into the eyes of the heavenly. "We always do."

As he pressed a kiss as soft as silk to his husband's knuckles, some of the tension from Aziraphale's shoulders dispersed.

"Yes. Yes, I suppose so," the angel exhaled, fiddling with his tartan bow-tie. 

For a few moments, the couple sat in a comfortable silence. Crowley turned towards Aziraphale.

"May I tempt you to dinner? Might have wormed ourselves on to the list at the Ritz."

*

Silver spoons scraped across the surface of the intricate ceramic plates. A rather delightful toasted grue ganache had been shared between them, Crowley now sipping at a glass of white wine whilst Aziraphale finished his final slice. As always, the food at the Ritz was exemplary. The epitome of perfection.

"Crowley," the angel twirled his fork, the polished metal of it tapping the metal of his wedding band. "I've been thinking."

"Thinking 'bout what, angel?"

"Well, among other trivial thoughts, I've been thinking about what the baby will call us!" the celestial force explained as he consumed the last piece of his dessert, Crowley swallowing the final droplets of his beverage. Rising from their seats in unison, the angel left out some money to pay for the bill, and the pair paced, hand-in-hand, out of the door and towards the car, Aziraphale's question playing itself in their minds.

"In all honesty, I'm not sure," the demon replied, his eyes (as per his husband's requests) firmly fixed on the road. 'Love of my Life' hummed out of the Bentley's radio. "I haven't given it much thought, what about you?"

"Well," the divine being spoke softly, choosing his words carefully, plucking them with the care he applies to his books of prophecy. "I did think about 'Pater'. You know, since we need to choose something the mortals would recognise."  
"Pater?"  
"Yes, 'Pater', it's a Latin term," Aziraphale explained, subtlety gesturing with his hands."It means 'father'."

"Has a Biblical undertone. I like it, suits you, angel."  
The blond tresses of the angel rustled as he turned to face his husband, a grateful grin on his face. 

"I quite like 'papa'. You know, for myself," the monotonous hum of the indicators accompanied Crowley's thoughts. "Begins with the same letter as your chosen name, and it also means 'father'."

Chuckling, Crowley shook his head as he swiftly spun on to the kerb, his heavenly husband gripping on to the edge of the door as he did so.

"Look at us. A few months ago we were averting Armaggedeon, now we're preparing for a child we never expected to exist!"  
Saffron irises met sapphire eyes. 

"Wouldn't change it for the world, my dear."

*

Speckles and splatters of paint adorned the garments of the angel and the demon. Crowley was in a pair of sweatpants with speckles running up the side of them, an ivory smear running across the front of a knock-off Queen t-shirt. His glasses had been left on the night-stand- the last thing he wanted was for his sunglasses to be damaged or muddied by paint. On the other hand, Aziraphale had donned an apron over a thread-bare jumper and an equally tatty pair of jeans he hadn't worn since the mid-Eighties. Regardless of what they wore, white acrylic still ended up covering them from head to toe. 

Five hours, four walls and eleven-and-a-half coats of acrylic paint later, the couple had nearly finished painting the walls of the nursery, the large paint-rollers proving to be messy, yet effective nonetheless. 

"Angel, can you give me a boost? I can't reach this top bit!" Crowley hollered, glancing over his shoulder for his husband, who was currently bustling across the landing with two mugs.

"I'm coming, I'm coming, dear!" the celestial force replied, setting down the mugs. Wrapping two arms around his partner's middle, Aziraphale hoisted him up, the plastic squeak of the roller echoing throughout the room.

"And the paint job is done!" Crowley proclaimed, staring down at his holy husband like God up in the clouds, his lanky legs dangling. "Y'know, you can put me down now."

"O-oh! Oh, of course!" replied the ethereal entity, returning his demonic partner to the bare floor. He quickly brushed himself down. Both men then turned their immediate attention to the flimsy wallpaper table in the centre of the room.

Hefty sighs escaped their lips. This was going to be one of the most frustrating experiences of their existences. 

*

They had only been at the feature wall for ten minutes, and Crowley already had wallpaper paste in his hair. In their infinite, tired wisdom last night, they had decided they would tackle the wallpaper issue in the morning. All that remained of their drinks were the lumps of powder that hadn't dissolved for reasons only God is aware of. The only positive thing going for them was that they had a single strip of the star-covered wallpaper attached to the wall. 

Last night, once both of them had returned to their usual positions on the couch after they had finished painting the walls, the occultist pair had remembered that they had a set of ladders downstairs, which was why Aziraphale was now crouched down by the skirting board with the wallpaper, his partner holding the other end by the architrave on the ladder..

"Ready, angel? Three, two, one!" 

After the demon had reached the final number, the both tacked the galactic wallpaper strip to the wallpaper. Stepping down from the ladder, the infernal man admired their efforts and the design of the wallpaper. 

He just hoped that his daughter appreciated the beauty of constellations and the cosmos as much as he did, if not more. 

"As exquisite as it is, Crowley, we mustn't lollygag, because we're aiming to lay down the floorboards and get the wallpaper on before the end of the day!" the angel reminded him, rubbing the shoulders of his husband compassionately, peppering the side of his face with miniscule kisses.

The demon sighed before turning his attention back towards the pasting table.

"Two down, four strips to go!"

In an odd way, Crowley's reluctance to decorate was beginning to fade, and a small, tiny part of him was starting to enjoy the process of creating a space for his daughter to exist in...

It was like he was painting the stars for her, and her alone. 

*

Visiting IKEA was similar to Marmite. With Marmite, you either love it or you hate it; with IKEA, you either spend all day there or you don't go at all. Unfortunately for the serpentine demon, they had elected to do the former option, which is why they were still in IKEA, five hours in on a baking Thursday, contemplating cribs. Once again, they were all in various shades of chalk, just like three of the walls and laminated flooring they installed a few days ago. 

"Do you have any idea how damaging this is to my reputation?" Crowley enquired, his expression scrunched up and crumpled. "I'm meant to be a wily demon, thwarting the path of the righteous at every turn! And what am I doing? I'm in the middle of IKEA, deliberating over whether to get a crib with drawers or a cradle that rocks, holding the shopping list of an angel. Oh, and I'm married to him!"

"Trust me, my dear, your rough reputation was reduced to tatters as soon as you rescued me in 1793," Aziraphale sighed, tracing his fingers across the beech surface of the furniture. He rather liked the rocking cradle, but he also saw a bassinet with convenient drawers earlier. 

The demon, who had hair of a fiery hue, sighed, letting a tiny smile slip. 

"I suppose you're right," he admitted, before turning his attention towards the cradle. The laminated label attached to it read 'SOLGUL'. "What do you think of this one, angel?"

"In all honesty, I'm not quite sure," stated Aziraphale, an anxious demeanour washing over him. "What if she tips it over when she starts standing?"

Crowley hummed, seemingly in agreement.

"Yeah, yeah, I-I don't have a burning desire for an injured daughter either. It does look quite cute though."

"Oh, choosing furniture is difficult!"

Suddenly, a rather genteel, if rotund woman with a rather broad nose and a jet black bob-cut, tapped the couple on the shoulder. The crow's feet and smile lines on her face indicated that she was in her mid-40s.

"So sorry to disturb you, gents, but I couldn't 'elp but notice that you're having a bi' of trouble!" the woman greeted them, her voice rather thick, with a medium-pitch. 

"Oh, yes, we are, ma'am! We're having some slight difficultly concerning a crib!" the angel (once again, this particular woman perceived them to be mortal, if a slightly odd looking couple) cheerfully greeted her, motioning with his hands towards the two different cribs.

"Ah! Firs' time parents, are we?" the lady asked, her pudgy fingers wrapping themselves around the flimsy fabric of her cardigan. A purple-tinted smile spread across her face. 

"Yep-pah!" Crowley replied, popping the 'P' sound at the end of his sentence. He pushed his sunglasses back on to his face.

"Oh, two chaps, raising a kiddie together! Oh, your mothers must be so proud of you both!" remarked the woman, stepping forward, muscling her way around the right-hand side of the flaxen angel. 

"Now, a cradle like this one is good if you want the lil' one to sleep, 'cause you can rock it, set them away to sleep. However, if you want something a bi' safer for them, I suggest you get a proper crib for them, one with drawers for extra storage if you can!" explained the woman, the fluorescent lights reflecting off her slick hair as she spoke. Her explanation actually helped to clear up a few points, and therefore led to the couple choosing an adorable, simple cradle with multi-coloured handles on the storage trays underneath it.

"Oh, oh, thank you! It has been bothering us!" Aziraphale exhaled, grasping the hand of the kind, friendly woman in the thin cardigan. 

"All in a day's work, luvvie! All in a day's work!" the woman chattered, her grin growing as wide as the cheery man before her. His husband also made his gratitude known, but he was less up-front about it, and he had occupied himself by noting the serial number of the piece of furniture. 

"Hmm, yes, thank you. I'm sorry, but I don't think we caught your name?" enquired the creature with the carmine hair, taking his husband's hand once he had finished.

"Oh, ye', dreadfully sorry!" chortled the woman, releasing a hearty laugh. "My name's Monica Foster, I'm just 'ere 'elping my son, Jordan! Jordan!" 

Monica waved wildly at a young man straddling a squirmy toddler- the family resemblance could be blatantly seen through the inky streams of hair. As soon as he had wrangled the child, he raced over to his mother.

"Hey, hey, nice to meet you! I'm Jordan!" greeted Jordan, his tone as enthusiastic as his mother's. "I would shake your hands, but Felix has got my 'ands full!"

Felix, who looked to be no older than three, giggled mercilessly from his father's arms.

"Oh, no worries, Jordan," Crowley reassured him, burying his free hand in the pocket of his jeans. These people seemed to be perfectly normal, reasonably friendly, if slightly batty humans.   
"Well, it was splendid to meet you all!" Aziraphale remarked, fiddling with his argyle pullover. "There's just so much to do!"

"I know, luvvie, there's tons to do, but that's one of the joys of being a parent!"

"Yeah, we've still got a blasted car seat to buy and we need to start looking into parenting classes in about a month or so, don't we, A.Z?" Crowley rattled of a tiny segment of their to-do list, slipping in their 'human' names into the conversatiom. The mere thought of it made the husbands want to collapse from exhaustion, and this was even before they had their daughter in the world!

Monica shifted on her feet, and briefly nodded at her son, before turning back to the contrasting couple.

"Well, as luck would have it, I run parenting and childcare classes, if you're interested in that sorta thing!" the middle-aged woman explained as she whipped out a business card and pressed it into the angel's free hand.

Pastel colours and bouncy lettering occupied most of the space, and the tiny card had 'Mums, Dads and Madness: Parenting Classes' etched into it, along with a phone number and address for the classes.

"Oh, that's terrific, thank you, ma'am!" the celestial man replied, placing the card into the breast-pocket of his coat (it may have been mid-July, but the more heavenly of the couple had insisted on wearing it). "Me and Antony will certainly be in touch!"

A few more moments of conversation would have been pleasant, but Felix was beginning to get fussy and squirm more, so the two groups said their farewells to each other before they went their separate ways. Both groups were both incredibly busy that day.

The nursery's furniture wouldn't purchase itself, after all. Next stop, changing tables and storage, then a quick stop to lighting, textiles and the cafe before they head home.

*

"How many screws do we need for this crib?"  
"Four."  
"And how many do we have?"

"Two and a half."

  
Lifting his head up wearily from the instruction booklet, Aziraphale rubbed his eyes. So far, they've assembled a wardrobe, a changing table, a bookshelf and a rocking chair since they returned from IKEA last night at around nine o'clock at night. Crowley's scarlet sleeves were shoved up to his elbows, and for once, the angel had also rolled up his pale, blue sleeves, his camel-hair coat hung on the coat-rack by the bookshop's entrance downstairs. Glancing into the hallway, the antique clock on the wall stated that it was five o' clock in the evening. They had been at the construction of the furniture since dawn, only with a small break for a sandwich from Tesco Express down the street. Obviously, they had been to bed the night before, although, very little sleep was actually performed. They mainly read the damn instructions.

"Crowley, how have we ended up with half a screw?" the celestial enquired, running a hand through his tousled hair. 

"W-well, I may have stepped on one as I came in, and I have no idea where the other screw has disappeared to," the demon responded, twirling the allen key in order to tighten a bolt. The last traces of his sanity were dribbling out of his ear and on to the floor.

"Oh, my dear boy, this is why I insist that you do not wear your snakeskin boots in the house!" the angel stressed as he attached one of the panels to the two strips of bars running across the cradle. This crib would be a discorporation of him.

Conjuring up two new screws, the fallen angel passed them to his husband.

"Why couldn't we have miracled all of this stuff together?" questioned Crowely with fatigue, helping Aziraphale tip the cot on its side so they could attach the bottom panel.

"Crowley! This room should be a labour of love! I want Naomi to feel the affection we poured into this room!" the angel protested, holding the wood steady. His husband's face scrunched up in confusion.

"Naomi?" he asked sceptically.

"You don't like it?"

"No, not that at all, angel, I'll get used to it," the occultist entity replied, returning his attention to the crib. Naturally, the last piece of furniture they have to assemble is the most tiresome. The fair angel was silent for a few moments.

"I don't want to choose a name you don't like... She is the product of you and I, after all, my dear, I want her name to reflect that," he muttered, faffing with his bow-tie as he spoke. 

Now it was Crowley's turn to be silent.

"Well, I've always liked Amari," he mumbled after a few moments, his voice barely present as he stood up. Armed with a packet of plastic, rounded corners, the demon tasked himself with baby-proofing the room. He had pushed several plug covers into the sockets earlier that day, either filed down or covered any sharp surfaces and installed several child-proof cupboard locks - this baby wasn't getting injured on his watch.

"Amari... Such a lovely name," noted the angel, pushing the crib upright, the awful piece of furniture finally assembled into submission. Slowly, the flaxen-haired angel approached his partner, engulfing him into a tender hug from behind.

"However," he started, peering up at him with soft, gentle eyes. "I did have another name in mind."  
*

Aziraphale was right in the end; as soon as you stepped into the room, you felt an overwhelming sensation of love. The dark, majestic feature wall contrasted the ivory wood of the furniture, various soft throw blankets adorning the rocking chair in the corner. Covering up a vast proportion of the floor, a plush rug graced the floor, the stars adorning it sparkling under the moon-shaped lamp on the wall. Secretly, when he thought Aziraphale wasn't looking, Crowley had discreetly added a cuddly toy duck to the top of the dresser when he was hanging up the cosmic-themed mobile above the bed.

Their little girl's nursery swelled with joy and affection, every inch of eternal pride and passion poured into it, from the luminous star stickers on the ceiling to the neat row of baby books occupying the shelves.

Hanging just above the place where their daughter would dream, laugh, love and cry, a picture frame hung on the wall near her bassinet. It wasn't much to look at: an uncomplicated snowy frame, an art piece of stunning nebula and elegant stars filling the frame.

In the centre of this particular painting of the cosmos, was two words. Two words written in intricate silver writing, the calligraphy shimmering in the radiant moonlight that streamed through the windows. Just two words, but they were the words that meant the universe to Aziraphale and Crowley: Eden Amari. 


	7. Pink Showers Ahead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this so far!  
> Once again, this hasn't been beta read, so please inform me of any and all errors you encounter!
> 
> Special thanks to the 'Good Omens' server :)

Time stops for no man, and nobody was more aware of this than the supernatural couple in Soho. In the blink of an eye, Aziraphale and Crowley had raced from the first phone call about their beautiful baby to haphazardly organising a baby shower. Late April had become late September. Four months had dissolved into minuscule particles of dust in front of them, like an explosion of time. 

Due to the baby shower, an explosion of flour had also occurred.

"Please, Crowley, for the love of all that's holy, please stop juggling the eggs!" the angel pleaded, attempting to wrangle the electric mixer. Petite chunks of butter were clinging to the entity's typically snow-blond hair, a cloud of sugar and flour shrouding him. 

"Don't worry, angel!" the demon replied, tossing the offending objects into the air, the specks of flour obscuring the lens of his sunglasses. After a few more minutes of 'entertainment', the infernal being cracked the three eggs, the golden yolks cascading from the shells into one of his husband's mixing bowls. "Even if I were to drop one of the eggs, it would miraculously remain intact!" he continued, grimacing as he tried to avoid the whir of the metal beaters. Aziraphale had the device at arms length. 

"Oh, hush, dear! Please, just focus on the baking," the celestial entity stated, brushing his clean hand through his hair. "Can you be a darling and pass the cocoa powder?"

Sighing affectionately, Crowley retrieved the rich cocoa powder from the top shelf, tracing the rim of the container before passing it to his holy husband.

A baby shower called for party food; in this particular couple's mind, party food correlated to angel cake and devil's food cake.

"I thought baby showers were an American farce, why on Earth are we hosting one?" the fallen angel enquired, quirking an eyebrow at Aziraphale.

"Well, I mentioned to Anathema about the... possibility of arranging a party to celebrate the baby, and she just became enthusiastic about the idea! She's been a tremendous help!" the divine being explained, peering through the glass of the oven, the sponges rising at a leisurely pace. "In fact, I believe her and Newt are driving down from Tadfield to assist with the final preparations."

The demonic partner of the angel coughed and spluttered, his amber eyes expanding to the size of golf-balls as he choked.

"Oh, for Go- for Sat- for somebody's sake, when are they arriving?!" Crowley demanded, banging a fist on his chest. 

As soon as the words left his lips, a sudden car horn blasted from outside of the bookshop; the figures of a witch and the witch-hunter stepped out of the vehicle.

The pair of them fluttered their eyes shut and exhaled- this was going to become so much more intensive.

*

Blue and pink. Azure and rose. Sapphire and amethyst. Vast quantities of balloons, bunting, streamers and ribbons decorated the room, every single item of decor in one of these two shades. Newt and Aziraphale were balanced precariously on a stepladder, attaching the trinkets to the architraves and ceiling, the occultist woman watching closely with a clip-board, her raven boots clicking against the floor as she paced. A few seconds earlier, she had dispatched Crowley upstairs, tasking the demon with covering Eden's name frame and locking the nursery's door. Apparently, gender reveals were incredibly popular, and since neither the angel nor the demon had told anyone the gender of the baby, Anathema Device decided to incorporate a gender reveal into the celebrations.

"They're incredibly popular," the witch stated, tying two black balloons, patterned with raised question marks, to a weight in the heart of the living room. "Newt, honey, shift it a little to the left!" Anathema instructed, waving her polished pen. Mr Pulsifer obeyed his instructions.

"No, no, right a bit."  
"It would have been a lot quicker if we just left it where it was," countered the young man, pushing his spectacles up.

Thundering down the stairs, a pair of snakeskin boots stalked down the stairs, a forest of crimson tresses swiftly following in its wake. 

"Hid that photo frame, now what do I do? I guess that we have to invite the bastards from both Upstairs and Downstairs too?" Crowley announced, removing her sunglasses and positioning it on the front of his collar. His husband grinned- Aziraphale adored his dear demon's eyes, the exquisite irises he hid behind those shadowed lenses.

"Ah, Crowley, you could conjure up some non-alcoholic drinks for us. Virgin drinks only!" the occultist warned, pointing an accusatory finger towards the demon.

Grumbling, the infernal entity shuffled towards the fridge. In his opinion, non-alcoholic drinks were up there with Manchester, the M25 and Armageddon itself. He absolutely despised them, and this was all they were going to serve that night. 

After an hour or two of shaking, not stirring (although there was a dash of stirring thrown in for good measure), the demon came sauntering into the living room, a tray brimming with a diverse array of concoctions. 

"Angel, hope you don't mind, but I invited Gabriel and Beelzebub, last minute invite. Supp'se at least one person from Heaven and Hell should be in attendance," Crowley commented, placing the drinks tray on the banquet table Ms Device had set up.

"Oh, I suppose so!" Aziraphale remarked anxiously, his fingers dancing around his tie. The fallen angel paced towards his 'holier-than-thou' husband, wrapping his arms around his soft torso. A head full of blond curls buried his face into the redhead's neck.

"Don't you worry, angel. The Almighty has already told them that neither party can lay a finger on us, they can't lay a damn finger on us!" the demon whispered into the angel's ear.

"Watch your language, dear," the celestial figure lightly scolded.

"Sorry, darling."

Pulling away from each other slightly, the couple had eyes filled with love. That romantic glow in their eyes seemed to reflect off their matching wedding bands: each entity wore a white gold and black ceramic ring, two wings, one manufactured with each metal, intertwining. 

"Yeah, you're both lovely and... mushy, congrats, guys, but guests are due to arrive any minute!" Anathema reminded them, Newt observing them with wide eyes. His glasses didn't help in the slightest, as they augmented them to ridiculous levels.

Nodding, the pair scampered off to their bedroom. 

Desperate times called for desperate measures. It was time to bust out their 'party-wear'.

*

Like water on a prayer wheel, the baby shower's guests began to flow into the bookshop. First to step foot in the door was Freya, her permed locks bouncing as she stepped into the room. Since she was around five weeks away from giving birth, Ms McCarthy was dressed in a graceful, flowing maxi dress.

"A.Z, Tony! Oh, it's so lovely to see you both again!" the woman greeted them both, pulling the husbands into a hug, one wrapped around each arm. Naturally, it was a little difficult to navigate around the bump, but they managed. Well, they managed until the bump began to squirm.

"Oh, oh, they're kicking! Quickly, you can feel if you like!" 

After looking into Freya's eyes, as if they were asking for permission, Aziraphale and Crowley carefully placed a hand each on Freya's stomach. After a few moments, a light sensation of pressure bumped against their palms. 

"Oh, oh!" the angel sighed, placing a free hand on his cream waistcoat, as if the feeling of love was building up inside him. Sparks of life illuminated his eyes, the golden flickers in his irises gleaming.

Conversely, the more demonic of the pair was a little more awkward in his actions. Even the sensation of the tiny kick felt bizarre against his hand. 

"A bit of an odd sensation, but, yeah, lovely," Crowley remarked, nodding as the pair of them pulled away.

"Don't worry, Tony, you get used to it. Even I felt a little squicky at first," Freya reassured him, propping her hands on her hips. Judging by how euphoric she seemed, pregnancy had gone light on her.

It was almost miraculous!

The Them, along with Adam's parents (Sarah Young chose to stay home with her boyfriend, caring for Dog instead of attending the baby shower of the 'gay couple' she never even heard of) soon traipsed in. To her resentment, Pepper was in a pale lavender dress, complete with horrid lace trim. Brian was saddled in a sensible shirt, along with the strictest instructions to remain clean. Wensleydale didn't look any different from normal, whereas Adam seemed to be disappearing underneath his slate waistcoat.

"Ah, the Them, Mr and Mrs Young, welcome!" the ethereal entity greeted all of the new guests, all of whom were placed somewhere along the discomfort scale. 

"Make it known that I did not agree to this," Pepper grovelled, tugging at her sleeves. 

"We bought something for you two," Adam grinned, presenting Crowley and Aziraphale with a box, covered in ivory wallpaper plastered with pale daffodil and olive rattles. An enormous white bow sat on top of the gift.

"Oh, erm, thanks," the demon replied, taking the gift, rotating it to have a proper view at it. Clearly, Adam seemed to have assisted with the wrapping, but that just seemed to make it more endearing. After thanking everyone, providing them with a joyful invite to make them feel welcome, Crowley ambled across the room, adding it to the gradually growing pile of gifts.

"AYE, HALLO!" 

Abruptly, the door to the book-shop banged open, revealing Sergeant Shadwell and Madame Tracy, a tower of presents clutched in Tracy's arms. 

"Ah, Sergeant Shadwell, Madame Tracy, nice to see you both again," Crowley drawled, shuffling towards the medium and the witch-finder with both hands buried in the pockets of his dress-trousers. "You've come bearing gifts, I see."

"Aye, me and the jezebel ha' come bearing gifts for the wee bairn," the sergeant remarked, gesturing at the pile of presents in his partner's hands.

"Oh, yes, we thought that we could get a few little bits and bobs for the little dear!" Madame Tracy continued, strutting over to the table with Shadwell in tow, dropping off the gifts.

Whilst the psychic and the Scotsman were depositing their gifts, a stark beam of light protruded through the ceiling, a dark mound manifesting from the floorboards in unison. Appearing before them was a stocky figure in a slate turtleneck and blazer, and a slight figure in fishnet socks and pinstripe trousers. 

"Gabriel," the flaxen angel greeted his superior, nodding politely at him, his hands folded behind his back.

"Ah, Beelzebub, didn't expect you to turn up," the crimson demon commented, peering at the new entities in their house.

"Crowley, Aziraphale, good to see you both again," the American-toned angel replied, his broad hands folded in front of him. 

"Yezzz, alwayzzz good to see you," the Lord of Hell replied, their fingers twitching. "We brought giftzzz."

In a flash, two packages appeared in their hands. Beelzebub's gift was messily wrapped, the sooty wrapping paper torn and mangled at the corners. On the contrary, Gabriel's gift was immaculate, sparkling gold sellotape holding the paper together, cartoon angels dancing across the gift. Cautiously, the parents-to-be accepted the gifts.

"Oh, thank you, you two, please, make yourself welcome," the more heavenly of the pair commented, passing both gifts to his demonic partner. Instead of walking over to the table, he simply performed a miracle and transported them there.

He decided he would pass the act off as increasing the overall laziness of the world.

*

Pleasantries had been exchanged, all of the guests (mortal or otherwise) were talking to each other. Once everyone had become moderately comfortable with each other, the party planner coughed.

"Alright, everyone! We have a little game we could all play," Miss Device announced, brushing off her plum petticoats as she rose from her seat. "Everyone place bets on both the gender of the baby and the name!"

Muttering among themselves, Newt clumsily passed around small sheets of paper. He initially had the bright idea to produce cute baby-themed sheets, but his girlfriend had to discourage him gently, so they had to settle for asking the fathers-to-be to write down a few selections for both genders.

"So..." Crowley whispered into his husband's ear, everyone else preoccupied with their betting slips; The High Lord of Hell was teaching the Archangel how to fill out a form with a slight level of frustration ('slight' leaning more towards the 'intense' end of the spectrum). "Who do you think will get it on the money, angel?"

Subtlety, the angelic figure glanced around the room. Every guest seemed to be sporting a similar expression of bewilderment.

"Oh, I don't know, dear," Aziraphale responded, fiddling with his satin bow-tie. "Maybe Tracy, she is psychic after all!

"Trust me, angel, if anyone here is psychic, it's going to be Madame Organisation," the demon hissed, pointing at the dark-haired occultist. 

Sharing a fond smile with each other, the couple chuckled. Who knows- maybe one or two of them will actually get the baby's name correct.

"Oh, don't be so stupid, Adam! They will never name the little squirt 'Kid'!" Pepper snapped as she jeered the Antichrist's choice of name. 

Then again, maybe not.

*

Once upon a time, the lounge of the Soho bookshop had been immaculate, pristine even. Elephantine quantities of crumbs and chunks of buttercream icing were now scattered across the oak floorboards of the room. The sight of it was causing Aziraphale's eyes to twitch. Thankfully, his momentary spasms were interrupted by the clinking of a spoon against a glass.

"Everyone, hi!" Freya greeted, the fabric of her dress rustling around her ankles. "Clearly, I'm the surrogate of the baby."

This comment generated a few amused chuckles from the guest, even though Beelzebub could be heard whispering, "What izzzz a surrogate?" once the laughter had died down.

"However," the cheery woman continued, her smile still glowing. "I am not going to be the ever-present figure for the baby. I won't be the one cleaning up pooey nappies, waking up in the middle of the night, pouring my heart and soul into the baby's well-being."  
Crowley grimaced slightly; he certainly had not signed up for this!

"It won't be me, because it will be them," the nurse (who was currently on maternity leave) stated tenderly, averting her gaze towards the men with flaxen curls and crimson tresses. "Antony J. Crowley and A.Z Fell. And they will be all that little darling could ask for and more."  
After a chorus of 'aww', even from the representatives from Head Office, the dark-skinned woman held up her flute of faux champagne.

"To them!"

"To them!" responded everyone, the voices ranging from the American lilt of Anathema to the refined accent of Wensleydale. 

"Now, I believe that there should be an opportunity for the happy couple to open all of their gifts!" continued Freya, her smile gleaming even more brightly than before. 

After a few murmurs of agreement, Aziraphale was startled by the weight of a gift being dropped into his lap. 

"For the bairn, from me and the harlot" explained Shadwell, giving as polite as a grin he could muster before returning to his seat.

Cautiously tearing off the paper, the more heavenly of the pair practically gasped at the sight of a plush doll, fashioned like a witch-finder. Even his infernal spouse allowed a petite grin to slip out.

"Oh, oh, thank you! Thank you, both of you!" exhaled the angel, his cheeks widening, the smile lines around his eyes folding with joy.

Gradually, wrapping paper began to accumulate on the floor, the various shades of pink, blue, silver and gold becoming a kaleidoscope of hues on the floor. The amount of gifts also increased with the volume of paper, knitted baby clothes in vibrant colours (courtesy of Madame Tracy), a collection of occultist-themed baby books (a gift from Anathema), various baby onesies and toys from all of the mortals and a vast, multi-patterned quilt blanket from the families of the Them. Adam's special gift had been a knitted representation of Dog. So far, this process of removing the wrapping paper, discarding it on the floor and admiring the gift had been relatively straight-forward. However, this was all threatened to be obliterated into dust, as it was finally Beelzebub and Gabriel's turn to present their gifts.

  
"Last, but by no means least!" the celestial figure reminded the infernal entity under his breath. His posture was rigid; his spouse's was sprawled against his shoulder. 

"Yeah, but this is General Americano and Lord of the Flies we're talking about!" Crowley hissed, his voice vibrating. His serpentine roots were slipping through.

The way that Gabriel and Beelzebub were positioned was already rather shifty in the demon's eyes. The polar-opposite pair were huddled together, shoulder to shoulder, a soft package in each hand, their legs stood stiff like soldiers. 

They couldn't make it more blatant that they were hiding something.

"I believe that I should have the honour of going first," the Archangel simpered, holding his unsullied, perfectly-wrapped gift out towards the husbands. As he warily accepted the present, Aziraphale used one of his manicured fingers to unfurl the wrapping paper. As the parchment fell away from the object, the angel held up a rather soft article of clothing. It was a pale ivory garment, with gold angel wings embroidered in the back. Turning it towards him, a pair of azure eyes flitted across the looping calligraphy on the front.

"'Daddy's Little Angel,'" recited the divine figure aloud, receiving several noises of approval and affection from the small crowd in their front room.

After he had wallowed in the positive reception to the gift, the American-accented angel returned to his place, ensuring that whatever was hidden behind his evil associate's legs was covered. Beelzebub loitered towards the parents.

"For the little worm, or whatever," they commented, holding the scruffy-looking present out non-nonchalantly. This time, Crowley accepted the gift. 

Unlike Aziraphale, he didn't meticulously unpick the wrapping paper, instead choosing to tear into it like a hellhound. Like Aziraphale's present, inside lay a scrunched-up baby romper, except jagged crimson writing and embroidered horns decorated the front.

Tutting slightly, the carmine-curled demon decided to turn the onesie towards the group, allowing them to read the writing themselves.

Everyone agreed that it was a bizarre coincidence that this particular gift had 'Daddy's Little Devil' blazed across the chest.

"Oh, yeah, hilarious, very... demonic!" the 'man' in the sunglasses remarked, causing everyone (who were slightly hopped up on sugar-filled faux booze) to descend into giggles.

"Whatever, you haven't even seen the joint gift yet!" the Lord responded, their eerie eyes boring into their inferior.

Immediately, both the occultist and the ethereal entities whipped round to look at each other. One had frantic eyes, the other had weary eyes, both had the same thought: what in the Nine Circles of Hell have they bought?

Coughing, the demonic diplomat brought the attention back to them. After a brief head nod to each other, Gabriel and Beelzebub separated.

A sleek ebony pushchair was sat behind them; it was dark and bulky, sitting on a wide frame and padded to the nines. Awaiting them, taunting them.

It had managed to be the most infuriating and the most useful gift of the night.

Not that Crowley and Aziraphale knew that. Yet...

*

"Are you positive that this is necessary, Anathema?" the angel enquired anxiously, a large pin held in one hand, an opaque balloon in the other. The mild September breeze kept shifting the balloon, and the only reason he could see the floating object was due to a combination of moonlight and street lamp glow reflecting off of it.

"I'm sure, just pop it when I give the signal," Miss Device confirmed, giving him a firm, but friendly look from behind her glasses.

"By the way, Anathema," Crowley called her back, shoving the needle between his teeth in order to beckon her forward. With an expression of uncertainty, she stepped forward from the crowd of people waiting on the grass. The final event of the night, the 'gender and name reveal', a usually tense and riveting event, had called for a large space, which was why the entire party was now stood expectantly in St. James' Park.

"Thank you, for planning this entire event. Without you, me and Aziraphale would have caused this whole party to lapse into chaos, almost to hellish extents, so thank you," the demon garbled, the needle now back in his palm and an amiable smile on his face. 

"Oh, yes, our gratitude can't be expressed enough. Thank you, for everything," the angel reinforced this statement, a tender smile on his own face.

The occultist politely nodded.

You're welcome," she replied, her hazel irises glittering with a sense of pride, before she turned and joined the other guests, gesturing for Freya to step forward in her place. As the jovial woman approached them, she received an envelope from Crowley.

This was the moment they were all bubbling with excitement to witness. Except maybe the higher-ups from Upstairs and Downstairs, who were rather indifferent to the entire spectacle, and perhaps the Young parents too, who just wanted to get back to Tadfield.

"Okay, this is the moment we've been waiting for folks!" Freya addressed the crowd, a warm hand cradling her baby bump. "Ready A.Z?"

Aziraphale gave a quick nod. Miss McCarthy turned her head towards the supernatural gentleman's spouse.

"All good, Tony?" she enquired cheekily. Snorting, Crowley also nodded. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Miss Device holding up three fingers.

"Ready, angel?" 

"Of course, my dear!"

Abruptly, in unison with the witch's fingers, the remainder of the guests started counting down, their volume and vigour increasing with each number. 

"Three, two, one!"

As soon as they heard the final number, the couple jammed the metallic pins deep into the ebony balloons. In the blink of an eye, the dark exterior of the ballons dispersed and detonated, a glittering cloud of pink dust exploding into the atmosphere. Raucous cheers were greeted by the party-goers. Crowley and Aziraphale simply beamed at each other, ignoring the fact that the substance was falling onto their shoulders. It could be miracled away later.

Giggling wildly, Freya once again stepped forward, the light gust of wind manipulating the skirt of her dress.

"And it is my greatest pleasure to reveal the name A.Z and Antony have chosen for their daughter!" the surrogate continued, eager figures opening the envelope, sliding out an elaborate sheet of paper.

"It is my greatest pleasure to announce to the you all that the baby we all want to meet oh, so much, will be named Eden Amari Crowley-Fell!"

An passionate cheer erupted into the otherwise calm autumn evening, some of the adults even exchanged money. Most of the 'winnings' of the bet seemed to be heading towards Newt.

Mirth and merriment engulfed that otherwise cool September night, love and tenderness shrouding the air. Rumour has it that the laughter present in St. James' Park echoed throughout the streets of London for hours thereafter. Shimmering starlight seemed to highlight the sense of zeal in the atmosphere.

It was almost as if the daughter of a dramatic demon and an fussy angel was illuminating the darkest corners of the world, making it a more exquisite place.

It was at least causing this compact corner of the world to be brighter, to be more euphoric.

Especially for the owners of the bookshop in Soho.

Especially for them.


	8. Trial and Lessons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please inform me of any spelling, continuity or grammar errors, as this hasn’t been beta read!
> 
> Special thanks to the Good Omens server, including all of the wonderful people I asked to quickly check over this chapter, such as the lovely ‘Corvid’ :)

They were late. Crowley and Aziraphale, after a chance encounter with Monica Foster in IKEA, had enrolled in a weekly parenting and baby care course, as they now only had a little over a month to prepare.  
They were late for their first session. They were late for the classes that would (hopefully) teach them to be slightly competent parents. Since yesterday’s baby shower required a few hours of heavy-duty miracles to get everything cleaned up, the demon and, surprisingly, the angel had decided this would be one of the few nights where they would both sleep.  
Now, they were horrifically late. ‘Fashionably late’ has already arrived at this point.  
  
“Come on, angel!” the demon hollered up the stairs, whipping on his leather jacket. A few seconds later, beige Oxford shoes came descending frantically down the stairs, the ethereal entity putting on his coat as he ran.  
“Yes, dear, I’m coming! Oh, I do hope we aren’t too late!” Aziraphale stated, a worried expression crossing his face.  
“Don’t have time to worry about that,” the demonic being remarked, opening the doors to the bookshop and the doors to the Bentley with a snap of his fingers. “Hurry up, angel!”  
With the hefty weight of time laying upon them, the pair rapidly shot out of the bookshop and into the car; within a few seconds and a single click of Crowley’s fingers, every door was locked, and they were now barrelling towards the community centre.  
  
Normally, the passer-by of London would see an ebony vintage car zooming past them at around 85 miles per hour. However, on days such as this one, all that could be seen was a dark smudge of an object blurring past them, the speed of it reaching upwards of around 140 miles per hour. The gargantuan speed increase was why the flaxen haired angel had his back pressing into the seat with his eyes squeezed shut. Crowley, on the other hand, was laughing maniacally, as if he were taunting the tarmac.  
“Oh, Crowley, I know that we’re late, but at this speed, somebody is going to get seriously injured!” the ethereal entity babbled, his eyelids still screwed shut.  
“Relax, Aziraphale! We will near enough arrive on time, especially at this speed!” the occultist being replied, reviving the engine as he weaved around a passing car.  
All Aziraphale could do was hope and pray that the Bentley didn’t collide with anything, or accidentally mow down anyone.  
He just wanted to get out of the blessed car.  
*  
  
Scampering into the ‘classroom’ with seconds to spare, the crimson-curled demon and the light-locked angel managed to sit down at one of the desks in the beige-toned room before Monica ambled in.  
“Morning, e’eryone!” the middle-aged woman greeted jovially, her slick ebony hair bouncing as she walked.  
Peering momentarily around the room, the ethereal entity noted the various types of people: some were wide-eyed and young, others had clearly done the ‘rodeo’, as it were, a few times round; there were many couples, entire families had attended and there were also a few lone parents present as well. In summary, Aziraphale and Crowley wouldn’t need to be concerned with blending in too much.  
“If you ‘aven’t meet me, my name is Monica Foster, and I will be taking you through these sessions for the next month or so!” the tutor greeted, the creases around her eyes expanding and deepening into canyons. “Jus’ goin’ to get this outta the way. We meet in this room, every Friday at 5pm!”  
Every person in the room nodded in understanding.  
“Right, first lesson of the day - nappies!”  
Judging by the peppering of groans that erupted, ‘nappies’ were a force to be reckoned with. Crowley and Aziraphale had only been in the room for two minutes, and they already felt like they were facing Satan himself… again.  
*  
  
Neither the celestial being nor the infernal being in the room (not that the other occupants were aware of this ‘insignificant’ fact) could decide which side had invented nappies. Each person had been provided with a ‘baby’, produced with a sturdy plastic and swaddled in yards upon yards of soft fabric. Upon receiving the dolls, Mrs Foster provided a demonstration for all of her ‘students’, wrapping the baby in a nappy with masterful movements, her hands flowing like water. Naturally, she made the entire procedure look easy.  
“A-angel! Angel, look, you need to place the baby on the nappy before you pull the front part up,” the entity in the dark sunglasses reminded his spouse, shoving his sleeves up as he frantically gave instructions. Both ‘men’ had abandoned their jackets since they began, their frustration causing them to get hot under the collar. Literally and figuratively.  
“Yes, I know, dear!” snapped Aziraphale, lifting the toy’s legs. “But every time I go to pull up that segment of the nappy, the back segment follows.”  
Fortunately, both entities felt a slight tap on their shoulders. Spinning around, they were greeted with the grin of their teacher.  
“Are we ‘aving a bi’ of bother, gents?” the middle-aged woman asked, propping both hands on her broad hips. Even though his face didn’t convey it, Crowley was infinitely relieved to see her round, warm expression.  
“Well, you see, Mrs Foster, we are struggling to keep the nappy in place while we fasten it,” Aziraphale explained, his own hands fiddling with the hem of his coat as he spoke.  
“It’s a right pain in the rear,” the demon affirmed.  
“It is, isn’t it? Bu’, it’s necessary!” replied the woman, the waves in her hair bobbing as she nodded. Her hands were as animated as her expressions. “Should I show you both again?”  
All that was required was a basic head-nod and glance at each other. The shoulders of the A.Z Fell and Antony J. Crowley (according to their applications) sagged as they admitted defeat, asking to be shown again.  
They had only attended a single session; Crowley had begun to prepare a dramatic plan to swan dive out of the window of their flat.  
*  
  
Parents are always willing to describe in lengthy detail about how you experience a new variation of ‘tired’ once a baby arrives. They claim that it defeats any other sense of weariness in the world, and that it only comes into full effect once you’re onto a week of sleepless nights and screaming tykes. As it turns out, the effects of post-parental fatigue could be experienced before the baby had even entered the world, which is why Crowley and Aziraphale felt as though they were wearing a ball weight made of osmium around every limb.  
  
“I never, ever want to hear the word ‘nappy’ in my entire existence again!” the infernal creature declared, bursting through the door of the bookshop before collapsing dramatically on to their quilted, mustard sofa. The bundle of books and bottles he was carrying descended to the floor. A few seconds later, his heavenly husband trundled through the door, a gargantuan box brimming with nappies masking most of his body.  
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to get used to it, dear,” the angel sighed, joining his demonic counterpart on the sofa. He tucked the large box underneath his arm. “We’re up to our necks in infant supplies already, and I believe that the quantity is only going to increase.”  
Both entities released a sound that seemed to be a yawn and a groan smashed together into one noise.  
“And baby formula-“ Aziraphale started. Crowley knocked his head back, causing his glasses to slide into his hair.  
“I’ve never seen so many types of white, chunky powder in my life!” the demon stated, his amber eyes expanding.  
“It doesn’t look particularly appetising either, and isn’t breast milk meant to be more… beneficial?”  
“Yeah, it is, angel.”  
“Well…” the celestial figure started, his voice dwindling into a whisper as he played with his tie.  
“Well… what?” Crowley enquired, contorting his torso in order to look at Aziraphale.  
“Well, if it’s meant to be more nutritious for the child, shouldn’t we just feed her ourselves?” the angel suggested anxiously. “We are able to manifest all of the ‘necessary equipment’, after all.”  
“I’m quite contented to feed Eden myself, angel,” the demon replied. One of his responsibilities as Nanny Ashtoreth had been to nurse Warlock when he was still an infant; he was more than willing to repeat that process for his own daughter. “Would you also want to?”  
After a few minutes of contemplation, the angel came to a decision.  
“I believe that this is something I could also do, if the situation called for it,” he commented, giving Crowley a warm smile. This gesture was returned with an equal amount of fondness.  
“Will save us the trouble of buying that disgusting... formula...stuff,” the occultist entity remarked, his dark eyebrows shooting to his hairline.  
“Yes, quite. However, I don’t think that the nappies will be able to obtain a free pass,” the angel remarked, closing his eyes. For the first time in his entire existence, he actually desired sleep. The angel who usually despised rest with every fibre of his form actually wanted it. Naturally, Crowley noticed this.  
“Bed?” the demon of the pair suggested. A sense of tenderness swarmed his eyes; it’s incredibly subtle, incredibly hard to pick up on.  
“Bed,” Aziraphale agreed with a yawn, picking both himself and his hellish husband off of the couch.  
Whoever said that parenting was lark could burn in Hell, in Crowley’s opinion; the baby hadn’t even arrived yet, and they were already exhausted.  
*  
Monica Foster was a godsend for the occultist figure and the ethereal gentleman. Their guardian angel, if you will. Over the next few days, Crowley and Aziraphale found themselves being perfectly capable of bathing a ‘baby’, washing it, dressing it, soothing it, as well as any other little acts that all added up into being a parent. Further baby-proofing had occurred at home and Eden’s wardrobe was gradually filling up, the rose gold railing overtaken by baby-grows and dresses (a clothing item of convenience). Aziraphale had even dedicated some of his spare time to curating a miniature library for Eden, lovingly selecting several pieces he wanted her to read and enjoy.  
For a moment, the true angel and the fallen angel felt as though they were unstoppable.  
  
“Angel, come and help, I can’t get the bloody thing in!”  
  
Until they encountered the car seat.  
With only one more parenting session remaining and the due date only a fortnight away, Monica, in her infinite wisdom, had decided to set all of the prospective parents a little homework task.  
“Right, e’ryone! Thank you for attending, you’ve all been lovely, as usual,” the woman declared, her round face swelling further as she smiled. It was a little overbearing at times, but Crowley willingly beared with it. Just as the demon went to slide his leather jacket back on, the teacher continued to speak.  
“Jus’ a few housekeeping notes! I do have a homework piece for you all,” the lady continued. This statement piqued the interest of everyone in the room: some of the expressions became sour, whilst others twisted with eagerness.  
“I will provide you all with a guide on assembling and installing a car seat, and I would love it if you all have a go!”  
As the portly person began to pace around the classroom, handing out instructional guides, the more hellish of the pair leaned over to his heavenly counterpart.  
“Where the deuce do you buy a car seat, angel?” he hissed underneath his breath, his brow wrinkling as he turned his gaze towards the wedge in his hand. The angel simply shrugged. However, when he went to speak, Aziraphale was cut off by the heavily-accented voice of their tutor.  
“Halfords, Antony!” Mrs Foster hollered, both palms resting on the demonstration table at the front of the room. “That goes for the rest of you. If you need a car seat, go to Halfords! I’ll see you all next week.”  
Sighing, the leather sleeves of the jacket squeaked as its owner tugged it on. Sauntering towards the exit, the demon called back to the angel.  
“Come along, angel. We’re going shopping.”  
  
Within five minutes of leaving the community centre, the wheels of the ebony Bentley tore into the Halfords car park. Any and all protests to drive at a slower place had been completely and utterly ignored.  
Choices were often overwhelming for Aziraphale. They were often too many of them to make, and even the most minute of decisions needed a decent amount of consideration. When he first witnessed the colossal aisle of child safety seats, the angel felt as though he were going to discorporate.  
“Bloody hell!” had been his husband's response. Heavy-duty seats, seats with handles, lightweight seats, dark seats, light seats. Seats, seats, seats. There was no way in the Nine Circles of Hell that the pair of them were going to be able to choose.  
This assumption had been correct, as one hour and forty-six car seats later, they were still there.  
“Maybe we should seek assistance, Crowley?” suggested the celestial entity, his manicured fingers dancing and interlocking with each other.  
“Yeah, sure, whatever,” replied the demon, ambling out of the aisle and around the corner to try to find one of the members of staff.  
Crowley, towing a reluctant teenager behind him, returned a few moments later. The zit-covered girl’s ebony shirt indicated that she worked there.  
“Ah, hello,” the angel greeted her, a friendly smile gracing his face. Her’s was devoid of any joy.  
“We are struggling to choose an adequate baby seat. Could you perhaps recommend one?”  
The celestial body’s expression glowed with hope.  
“Nngh, that one is pretty good, I s’pose,” the teenager grunted, pointing to an onyx and crimson seat. By the time Aziraphale had picked up the object and attempted to thank her, she had already shuffled off.  
The hellish being tilted his head as he gazed at the seat.  
“Isn’t that the first one we looked at, angel?”  
“I believe so…”  
  
Swiftly paying for it, the couple paced out of the superstore, bundling the car seat into the Bentley. Crowley’s adrenaline junkie instincts kicked in once they were both inside the vehicle, the pair of them rocketing home in record time due to their high speed. Queen belted out of the speakers.  
“Right, angel, I reckon we should have a decent crack at that car seat tomorrow. What do you say?” the fiend suggested, looking into his angel’s azure eyes.  
“Yes, that sounds perfectly adequate!” Aziraphale agreed, giving his husband a quick peck on the cheek before sliding out of the car.  
The dark, tinted lenses of the demon’s glasses masked his heart eyes.  
Goodness, he adored Aziraphale.  
*  
Goodness, he (currently) hated Aziraphale. Saturday had dawned upon them, which is why Crowley was now bent over into the car, wrestling with the car seat in the late October breeze. They had started the battle with the car seat at four in the afternoon, once the shop had been closed and it was now eight o’ clock. Thus far, the demon had swore and scowled at the stupid chair, shaking it, rocking it, shoving it.  
And what had Aziraphale done?  
He had gone inside to make coffee.  
  
Ten minutes later, filled with the hellish figure desperately forcing the seat-belt around the safety seat, the flaxen-haired angel bustled out of the front door with two mugs, his wedding ring tapping against the ceramic.  
  
“Angel, come and help, I can’t get the bloody thing in!” Crowley barked, his skin-tone ruddy with effort.  
Abandoning the cocoa and the coffee (black, eight sugars, just the way Crowley liked it) on the doorstep, the ethereal entity sprinted over to the car, climbing into the other side.  
“Right, what are we doing here, dear?” enquired the heavenly gentleman, his scalp pressed against the roof.  
“Trying to thread this chair! Here, take this!” remarked the demon, pressing the buckle of the seat into his husband’s palm. Crowley lifted up the seat.  
“Now, thread the strap through the bottom section of this seat!” instructed the demon.  
This proved to be as difficult as searching for a pinky-fingernail sized needle in a haystack replica of the Eiffel Tower.  
“Oh, this is ridiculous, angel, why don’t we just miracle the damn thing?” snapped the demon, pinching the bridge of his nose.  
“Because, Crowley, I want everything this child touches and sees glow with love!” remarked Aziraphale. “Hang on, one moment, I think I’ve got it!”  
A click later confirmed that the child seat was now firmly anchored into the backseat of the beloved Bentley. Rapidly tethering the seat to the window and behind the chair, both ‘men’ stepped out of the car, grinning.  
  
“Well, that was interesting!” commented Aziraphale, wiping his eyes as he trundled into the bookshop and straight up the stairs. For someone who detested sleep, he seemed to be doing a great deal of it recently  
“For you, maybe! Creating the M25 took less bloody effort, I’m shattered!” proclaimed the demon, lightly rubbing the angel on the back as they walked up the stairs. “Just think, now we have one more parenting class before the 28th, which is the due date, and we can basically kick back and relax for a while!”  
“Yes, that does sound quite reasonable. How does an early night with hot cocoa and an episode of ‘Golden Girls’ sound, dear?”  
The carmine-tressed demon smiled affectionately at Aziraphale.  
“Absolutely heavenly.”  
*  
  
It was two o’clock in the morning when the bedroom phone rang. The piercing sound caused the serpentine demon to ricochet out of their bed, groaning and hissing all the while.  
“Antony J. Crowley, what the bloody hell do you want?” the demon angrily whispered, the receiver close to his mouth. “Oh, hello, Freya, how are you?”  
Silence filled the SoHo bedroom.  
“What?! We’ll be right there!” roared the demon, simultaneously slamming the phone into the cradle and startling his husband awake with his screaming.  
Bleary-eyed and perplexed, all that Aziraphale could see through his hazy vision was Crowley frantically grabbing the car keys whilst miracling his shoes onto his feet. Suddenly, the angel’s vision was completely masked by his coat landing on to his head.  
“What in the name of the Almighty is going on, dear?!” the celestial figure demanded, whipping the coat off of his head.  
“Get your coat on, angel!” hollered Crowley, his eyes frenzied and frazzled.  
  
“Freya’s gone into bloody labour!”


	9. Their Apple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please inform me of any spelling, grammar or continuity errors, as this has not been beta read!
> 
> Special thanks to the Good Omens discord :)

“Freya’s gone into bloody labour!”

In an instant, Aziraphale had scrambled out of the bed, shoving on his camel-hair coat as he raced Crowley down the stairs. Any traces of bleariness had been detonated in mere nanoseconds. The light zapping noise of a dozen miracles echoed throughout the bookshop and into the chilly London atmosphere, the pair of them desperately trying to miracle themselves into their usual apparel before hopping into the Bentley. 

"Crowley," Aziraphale remarked, swiftly tying his bow-tie as his husband careered around the corner on two wheels.

"Yes, angel?" Crowley hissed, blatantly agitated and flustered. His baby, his daughter, the secondary love of his life, was going to arrive soon and he did not want to miss a single damn second of it!

The angel sighed, his sapphire eyes bulging as he braced himself.

"I prayed that I would never say this for as long as I existed. Step on it!"

Slamming his foot down on the pedal, Crowley veered the Bentley around the corner and throttled the engine, the vehicle roaring as it rocketed down the crowded streets of London. Miniscule infernos burst out of the exhaust pipe; poor, vulnerable passer-by made desperate attempts to clear a path for the two panicking morons in the vintage car. The Bentley (in a futile attempt to relax its owner and his companion) began to blare Queen, but the rapid tempo and heavy bass-beats only succeeded in making the supernatural entities more alarmed. Somehow, they were both eager for Eden to arrive, yet still clinging on to the hope that they might be able to have a little longer to prepare. It felt like being trapped in limbo.

*

Two pairs of feet, one in heavy snake-skin boots, another in soft tartan slippers, pounded down the corridor of the maternity ward. Flapping behind his knees, the beige fabric of Aziraphale's coat billowed and rippled behind him.

"Oh, I do hope we aren't too late!" the angel remarked, huffing as he tried to maintain Crowley's pace.

"Trust me, angel! The one thing we are definitely not doing is missing the birth of our daughter! Now, come on!" the demon roared, turning his flaming amber eyes towards Aziraphale, who returned the gesture. However, neither of them were watching what was approaching, which is why, in an obscure twist of fate, the husbands collided with Elijah Sante.

"Ah, oh, it's you two! We've been waiting for you two to arrive!" Elijah babbled, his umber eyes widening, his slender fingers fiddling with his medical coat. "Come on, come on, Freya is in a private room on the ward, room 36!"

Ushering the supernatural entities into the ward, Aziraphale and Crowley gradually became more nervous with every step. Glancing at either side of them, both supernatural entities took note of the various people in the ward: entire families were at some bedsides, whereas others only had themselves for company. All ages of parents were present, from teenagers to middle-aged couples. Shrieking filled their ears on one side- silence occupied the other side. 

No matter what they saw, it only reaffirmed what they were suspecting. One of their most existence-altering events was about to occur.

Cautiously, the pair of them entered the room, the doctor trailing them. 

"Ah, Tony, A.Z! Thank God, you made it, I thought that you wouldn't get the call-" Freya sighed, her voice rising slightly as another wave of contractions hit her. Crowley grimaced. Aziraphale winced.

"Don't worry, Freya! Everything was tickety-boo, and we received the call," the angel reassured her, carting himself into one of the bedside chairs. His ivory palm clutched her dark hand in reassurance. 

"And by that, he means that I heard the call, panicked and woke him up by throwing a coat on his head, but none of that matters!" the demon continued, vaulting into a similar chair on the other side of the bed. Like his husband, Crowley also took one of the surrogate's hands into his own. "We're here now." 

The contact was moderately unpleasant, but he could (and would) get used to it.

Freya McCarthy released another groan, which then progressed into a piercing scream. 

Six months ago, they were prattling about the cosmos and penguins in top hats, a glass of red wine clutched in each hand. Now, they had the hand of their dear friend and surrogate grasped within theirs, supplying soothing and comforting words as she forced their baby out of her. 

*

"Get. This. Baby. Out!" the woman roared, leaning forward as another shock of pain blasted through her abdomen. By now, the temperature in the room had increased drastically, and everyone had sweat flowing down their faces. The jerky, abrupt movement of Freya rocketing forward, caused Aziraphale and Crowley to fly forward, the demonic being of the pair falling off his chair.

Over the past few hours, the sun had risen lazily above the horizon, the slow slog of daily life continuing for the vast majority of the population. Life isn't usually fast-paced at five in the morning. Then again, life tends to change when there is a baby on the way.

"Oh, my goodness, dear, are you okay?" enquired Aziraphale, his frenzied eyes darting frantically across the other side of the bed. 

"M'fine, angel!" Crowley called from the sterile, linoleum floor, grappling for his sunglasses. Squinting as he peered under the ivory bed for them, he was vaguely aware of the cheap door opening. The only view he had was of a pair of navy Converse and a separate pair of gothic boots.

"Hey, guys, Freya, we came down as soon as we heard," Anathema remarked, her American tone filling the room. The awkward shuffling of canvas shoes was clearly Newt. 

"Ah, Anathema, you're here earlier than we expected. W-was the Wasabi okay?" Crowley stuttered as he popped back up, placing his glasses on to his nose. Stuck up in every direction, Newt's usual sepia tresses resembled a bird's nest, his Witchfinder's jacket hanging off of his thin frame. By contrast, his girlfriend, Anathema, was impeccably dressed in an ebony dress, the petticoats rustling as she adjusted her posture. Not a single hair was out of place, even when she looked the two husbands up and down. 

"Why does it look like you two got dressed in a tornado?" the occultist enquired, peering at them from behind her glasses. Another one of Freya' shrieks filled the room before she collapsed back on to the pillows. 

"What on Earth are you talking about, my dear girl? We hastily dressed, with the ...assistance of the odd miracle, this is utter poppyco- oh, dear..." Aziraphale rambled, his speech only slowing as his eyes drifted from his own attire to the garments of his infernal counterpart. Even though the angel had managed to conjure his argyle jumper and tie on to his person, and he was naturally wearing his beloved coat, Aziraphale was still clad in his turquoise, tartan pyjamas and matching slippers. Crowley's hasty miracles hadn't fared much better: his leather jacket and mesh necklace had been thrown over the top of his sable silk pyjamas.

"At least I had the decency to wear shoes, angel," Crowley remarked, creating an infernal gesture with his free hand. Soon enough, both figures were dressed in their usual clothing. 

"How did you-" Freya started, her brow wrinkling in confusion. However, she didn't have time to ponder upon this, as another contraction was approaching. 

"OOH, MY GOD, WHY DID I EVER AGREE TO THIS!" Miss McCarthy bellowed, doubling over.

"B-b-breathe, Miss Freya, you've only reached five centimetres of dilation. Please try to remain calm and breathe through the gas and ai-" instructed Elijah, running a gloved hand through his sandy hair. The sound of the door clattering open caught everyone's attention, allowing a beam of light and a mound of earth to manifest behind them.

"Aye, hallo, we're 'ere, ya wimps!"

"Oh, hush now, Mister Shadwell."

"So... thizzz izzz a hozzzpital?"

"I believe so, Beelzebub, I believe so. I like the walls. Very elegant."  
The room had suddenly become even more stifling.

"Why did we make so many phone calls, angel?" sighed Crowley, giving his husband a desperate look.

"Not sure," Aziraphale replied. "I don't believe that we informed our respective head offices?"

The clamminess of the room increased even further after this realisation.

*

Six 'people' had become ten. On top of the streams of midwifes and other technicians streaming in and out of the private hospital room, the already humid room had become even sweatier over the course of a few hours. The silver hands of the sleek clock on the wall had counted the time. Six in the morning became eight in the morning, which then progressed to midday. Likewise, Freya's dilation had progressed from five centimetres, to six, and then to seven. Newt felt a bit queasy, so he scampered out to buy lunch.

A few minutes later, he was returned to room 36 in a wheelchair, three cheese and ham sandwiches in his lap.

"Bit of a weakling, the young man, izzzn't he?" buzzed Beelzebub, attempting to mask their fly-like tendencies.

"Yes, he certainly is of a rather feeble constitution," Gabriel muttered, his lilac eyes scruntinising the awkard man.

"Oh, leave the poor laddie alone!" Sergeant Shadwell scolded them, pointing a nicotine-stained finger at them.

One thing that neither Aziraphale nor Crowley had expected was how tedious, yet stressful, the process of labour was. Of course, they had expected a bit of pain, this was human biology they were talking about, but neither figure had anticipated how arduous birth was; it did nothing to calm Aziraphale's nerves, which were quite fragile and finicky to begin with. 

"Oh, oh, Crowley, I-I..." stammered the angel, his manicured fingers playing and fiddling with his flaxen hair and the hem of his coat. Any cohesion in what he was saying had promptly disappeared, leaving only a perplexing jumble of words and noises. Pale tears began to leak from his eyes. He had, fortunately, managed to hold his sanity together when Freya was there, an overwhelming desire to hold everything in for her. However, as soon as she left with a nurse to visit the toilet, every semblance of composition had crumbled. Briskly, the demon snapped his fingers, freezing everyone else momentarily in place. Crowley approached the angel.

"Shh..shhh...shhh... calm now, angel, just calm," Crowley soothed him, rubbing an arm up and down the celestial gentleman as he sobbed into his collar. Rocking him gently, the pair of them ambled around the room at a leisurely pace, one arm cradling Aziraphale, the fingers of Crowley's free hand combing through the back of his heavenly husband's curls. 

"I know, I know, dear, it's just... it's just..." Aziraphale seemed lost for words, drawing away from the demon slightly to look him in the eyes. Sapphire irises met ones of glowing amber. 

"Don't worry, angel, it's all going to be okay. Eden will be here before we know it."  
"Yes, yes, she will, she will."

The pair had enough time to exchange a small smile, the rare type that Crowley offered to people he genuinely liked (most of whom were in the room that day) before removing the effects of the miracle, once again with a simple click. A disgruntled nurse and tense Freya re-entered. The surrogate's raven perm was sticking to her forehead.

"She's dilated another two centimetres, Dr Sante, just one more to go," the nurse informed Elijah, guiding Miss McCarthy back to the bed. The doctor sprang up, bouncing on the balls of his feet before approaching Freya. Aziraphale and Crowley swiftly returned to their initial positions by the bed.

"Now, Miss Freya-" Elijah started.

"What the bloody hell do YOU want?!" she roared. Clearly, since the universe had blessed the surrogate with a heavenly pregnancy, it only felt fair for her to experience a hellish delivery.

"W-well, I was about to suggest an artifical rupture of the membranes. Essentially, i-it involves a midwife breaking the membrane of the amniotic sac and speeding up the process of delivery!" Elijah explained, tripping slightly over his words.

"I don't care what you do, blondie, just do what you have to do," Freya snapped, panting and gulping air.

By some eerie stroke of luck, a young woman, adorned in scrubs with her flaming red hair tied into a neat bun, entered the room. 

"Do you require any assistance, Dr Sante?" she enquired, her high-pitched voice laced with warmth. 

Nodding, the doctor signalled her over. Once she had battled through the barricade of entities, mortal or otherwise, Elijah quickly explained to her the procedure that needed to be carried out. 

Their hushed tones could be heard by no-one. No-one at all, with the exception of Madame Tracy. Leaning in slightly, her painted lips dropped open upon hearing their conversation.

"Oh, my days, what a mess that will make," Tracy stated, adjusting her bleached bob. Newt groaned and his knees buckled, hitting the floor with Anathema releasing an exasperated huff behind him. 

  
"Now, Miss McCarthy, my name is Amanda. All I'm going to do is use a narrow probe to break your waters," Amanda explained, her brown eyes boring into the hazel irises of the surrogate. "It may be a little uncomfortable, and the second stage of labour will happen once I do this. Just remember to keep breathing through the gas and air."

The entire procedure happened in the blink of an eye. Within seconds of Amanda inserting the amnihook, a substantial volume of water gushed out of Freya and on to the floor, collecting in little puddles.

"I think I'm going to be sick," admitted Newt from the floor, his complexion suddenly turning pallid. 

"Join the club, dude," Gabriel remarked, his mouth twisting in disgust. 

No one else had time to input anything, a rippling shriek erupted into the air, the contractions slamming into Freya harder, and harder.

The final countdown had begun. Eden Amari was coming.

*

If he had bones that could be broken or bruised, Crowley was ninety-nine percent positive that his hand would have been broken by now. With the exception of the prospective parents, all of the other visitors to Aziraphale and Crowley had been escorted into a nearby lounge. All of them had been in the depths of delivery for the past six hours, and the baby had scarcely moved. It was becoming incredibly painful, particularly for Freya; the angel and the demon only had to deal with inflamed indents in their hands and mild verbal abuse, she was pushing a small child out of her!

"Right, push Miss Freya!" Elijah instructed, positioned at the end of the bed with two midwives. 

"I am pushing, you moron!" Freya groaned between pushing, the strenuous effort causing yet more sweat to bead upon her skin. Any and all coats had been abandoned, presumably in the safety of Sergeant Shadwell. Once she had been told to stop pushing, she collapsed back on to her flimsy pillows.

"Oh, that was a bit rude, I'm sorry!" Miss McCarthy sighed, shifting her focus between the doctor, the demon and the angel. "Please tell everyone that I'm soRRy!" she pleaded, straining slightly at the end as she felt the urge to push. 

"Trust me, my dear, it's fine!" Aziraphale reassured her, patting her knee with his free hand. Crowley didn't say anything.

He was clamping his mouth shut to avoid screaming.

*

"Okay, deep breaths, Miss Freya! The baby is crowning!" Elijah remarked hurriedly as he replaced his surgical gloves.

This was it. Aziraphale and Crowley had been at this dreary, sweltering hospital for seventeen hours, and all they desired now was to hold their little girl in their arms.

Ragged, swift breaths left Freya's mouth, lightly pushing as she did so. Every inch of her skin felt as though it was on fire. Scorching, searing heat erupted underneath her skin as the baby's head and shoulders, the most painful aspect of the birth, pushed their way out.

Tension and excitement built themselves up in equal measure. You could slice through the apprehension with a flaming sword.

"One more deep push, Miss Freya! Three, two, one, push!" hollered Elijah, his own umber eyes brimming with expectation and relief.

Gripping her hands with as much strength as they could muster, Aziraphale and Crowley continued to shout reassuring words. 

A shrill cry penetrated the air, a mighty wail that caused the entire room to descend into silence.

For the first time in many millennia, Crowley felt blessed.

That was a thought that hadn't appeared for an eon.

"Congratulations, Miss McCarthy, Mr Fell, Mr Crowley!" proclaimed Elijah. Swaddling the baby in a loose blanket, he turned to the table behind him. Several months ago at one of their many cake-fuelled meetings, the trio had formulated a birth plan. One of the reasons why the entities had insisted on a private room was due to the fact that the baby could be weighed and cleaned whilst they were there. It was certainly one of their better decisions.

"Antony," Dr Sante addressed him, giving him a friendly grin. Freya gave a knowing, fatigued smile towards the doctor. She knew what was coming next. "Would you like to hold your daughter?" 

Speechless. That's what Crowley was: speechless.

Flabbergasted, all the fiend could do was nod with wide eyes as his baby was gently lifted into his arms. Shifting his posture slightly, his amber eyes fixed upon every tiny feature of his daughter. 

A neat, button noise sat in the centre of her smooth face, but the prominent cheekbones and sharp contours of her face could still be seen, even behind her round cheeks. Wisps of strawberry blonde hair were stuck to her scalp. Her cries had died down, leaving only the sound of her light breathing. It was the most exquisite sight Aziraphale and Crowley had ever witnessed. They were utterly in awe of her.

The creation of the world didn't even compare to her.

Clamping and cutting the cord had been an odd experience for both Aziraphale and Crowley. There was a slight tinge of sadness attached to the act, although neither entity was sure why. 

A short period of time later, when Elijah had vacated the room and Freya had settled down for a well-deserved nap, the demon was carefully feeding Eden with a bottle of milk, supplied by their surrogate and dear friend.

That's when she opened her eyes for the first time.

Peering up at her fathers, shining, emerald eyes took in every detail of their faces. Serpentine pupils adjusted to the sight of Crowley and Aziraphale, euphoric tears welling in their eyes.

"Oh, hello, my little apple..." the demon exhaled, using his pinky finger to stroke her silky skin. "I'm your papa."

This beautiful realisation hit Crowley like a tonne of bricks.

"I'm your papa!" he remarked, his voice cracking, his face splitting into a joyful grin. Aziraphale's heart swelled at the mere sight of them. Warily, the angel leaned closer to his daughter, allowing her to receive a better view.

"Hello, my darling," he whispered fondly. "I'm your pater. We're so, so happy to meet you."

Bliss filled the atmosphere, touching everything in the room with love and affection. It was a splendid moment, a moment that had been captured forever.

The first time Crowley and Aziraphale met Eden Amari, on the 21st of October at 9:13pm. Their darling daughter, the perfect blend of demon and angel, down to the dainty grey wings peeking out from under her blanket.

Anathema, who was watching along with the rest of the group via a crack in the door, secretly took a photo of this first meeting. Wonderment was engraved into the expressions of the pair of them. She resolved to have this photograph printed for them. For now, she decided to admire Crowley and Aziraphale's faces.

She had never seen them so happy, because what the angel had uttered was true.

"We're so, so happy to meet you, my dear."

*

Eden Amari Crowley-Fell.

The apple of Crowley and Aziraphale's eyes.


	10. The First Night Of The Rest Of Their Lives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this so far!
> 
> Special thanks to the Good Omens discord and my wonderful beta readers, ’cacaxa’ and ’Lokiobsessionwithasideofstucky’ :)

Crowley had never driven so cautiously in his entire existence. Usually, the myriad of stars that illuminate the skyline would become a hazy blur on the speeding car. That night, all they did was highlight the surface; the demon never drove above the speed limit. 

He wouldn’t dare race through the streets with such precious cargo. 

“And we’re home…” Aziraphale exhaled, his sapphire eyes darting towards the Soho bookshop. 

“Yep-pah,” Crowley remarked, shutting the engine off before immediately stepping out of the car. Mere seconds later, the angel heard the back-door pop open, the vehicle filling with the sounds of his husband gently coaxing Eden to sleep. Despite the thunderous traffic and raucous racket of city-life, their daughter never stirred, never cried. 

“Come on, apple. Time to get you to bed; me and your pater are exhausted,” the demon whispered, lightly bouncing Eden in his arms as he walked towards the door. With a simple click, Aziraphale opened the ancient, oak doors, allowing all three of them inside. 

A feeble glow cast itself over the ground floor of the bookshop. Every edge and corner of the room’s furniture became highlighted with amber. Before Eden Amari was whisked off to her nursery, her fathers needed to check something. 

“Right,” Crowley began, removing his sunglasses whilst cradling Eden with one arm. “We saw her wings poking out earlier.”

“Yes, my dear, I believe we did,” affirmed Aziraphale, tugging his beige coat off his torso. 

“Now, it may have been a trick of the dodgy lights, but I’m pretty sure that her wings were grey,” the demon continued, gazing at his angel. “I think we better check.”

After a few seconds of silence, Aziraphale nodded, his focus still firmly fixed upon his daughter.

“Oh, if you insist. Please ensure that you don’t wake her! Oh, I would hate for her to be uncomfortable,” the celestial being rambled, worry slowly dripping and rising in his eyes.

“Trust me, angel. I would never harm her,” Crowley replied sternly. 

Under the faint light of the overhead chandelier, two sets of hands - one set thin and nimble, the other rounded and cautious- unwrapped the soft blanket swaddling their daughter. Tumbling to the ground, the fabric twisted and coiled with the grace of a ballerina, before landing in a heap on the carpet. As soon as the blanket hit the floor, a pair of silky wings arched and rose. They were petite, to say the least; each wing could fit comfortably in each entity’s palm. 

Most notably, they were grey. Not a pale grey, almost white, nor were they a dark grey, a grey they could resemble black under the correct light. This particular arrangement of feathers were pure slate, with shimmering specks of crimson and ivory embedded within them. 

“Well, they’re definitely grey,” Aziraphale responded in a hushed tone, his right hand warily brushing through the wan wings. A kaleidoscope of colours illuminated through his daughter’s feathers as he combed them.

“Definitely grey, no doubt about it. And because they’re grey, it means that Eden is a hybrid,” Crowley concluded, scraping the cloth of the carpet, the Georgian patterns becoming visible once again. “Perfect mix of angel and demon stock. She could be a freelance agent when she grows up.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, dear.”

“Quite right,” the demon finished quietly.

“Bed?” 

“Bed.”

*

They didn’t need to switch the nursery light on. The luminance of the stars and the streetlights was adequate enough. 

Using hushed whispers the entire time, the couple paced into the nebula-themed bedroom, Crowley (or ‘Papa’, as he will be known to Eden) rocking the sleeping newborn. Unfortunately for them, they had almost placed her into the crib when she began to wail. Piercing, shrill cries echoed throughout the room as large, wet tears dribbled down her cheeks, her minute nose becoming congested with snot. 

“Oh, my darling, it’s okay!” Aziraphale comforted her, scooping her up and pressing a light kiss on her forehead. Her skin felt like silk. “No need to cry, dear.”

“What do you think it is? Is she hungry? Tired? Needs a nappy change?” Crowley rattled off several reasons, his speed increasing with every suggestion.

Furrowing his brow, the angel quickly sniffed Eden, who was still weeping, much to Crowley’s concern. Despite being a wily demon of serpentine nature, children, especially unhappy children, had been his weakness.

“It’s not that dear,” Aziraphale remarked as he drew away.

“Must be hungry then…” the infernal being commented, propping his hands on his hips. Saffron irises met azure ones.

“Who’s going to feed her first?” the demon enquired. Although she had generously offered to donate any milk of her own, the couple graciously turned down Freya’s offer. They told her that they could manage by themselves. 

“I’ll-I’ll feed her first,” the angel decided, already settling into the rocking chair in the corner before his husband could counter him. “How do you do this?”

Conjuring up an ivory stool, Crowley scooted besides the rocking chair. 

“First, you’ll have to channel some of that celestial energy of yours into ‘making an effort’,” the fallen angel explained. He could offer a few pointers from his days as Nanny Ashtoreth. 

Glancing at him, Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut, humming some ethereal chant that the demon couldn’t quite hear. After a few moments (and a few winces on the angel’s part), a pair of blue eyes popped open.

“Now what, dear?”

“Next, take off the jumper and unbutton your shirt about three buttons down.”

The idea of this caused a pit to form in the angel’s stomach. Crowley noticed this on his face immediately.

“You know, angel, we can swap if you wish…” the demon responded, placing a tender hand of his husband’s knee. A brief silence filled the air.

“Please…” Aziraphale mumbled, handing his daughter to Crowley. The two entities swapped places: the demon in the rocking chair, the angel on the stool. Anything that Aziraphale had manifested had disappeared due to a lack of ‘effort’.

“I’m sorry, Crowley, I thought-I thought I could do it…” the angel whispered, his eyes cast towards the indigo rug. 

“Oh, don’t worry angel,” Crowley responded, supporting Eden’s head from underneath his shirt. “We have a few months of this to endure, and you can do it whenever you feel ready.”

“Thank you, Crowley,” Aziraphale responded, a slight smile gracing his face as his husband sat up straight. His daughter was placed in his hands and propped upon his shoulder.

“Now, just pat her gently on the back; don’t worry about stains, just a little demonic miracle of my own,” the ‘damned’ creature responded, a brief smile appearing as he buttoned up his shirt. 

Aziraphale did as he was instructed. Thank the heavens (or Hell, rather) for the miracle, because his argyle jumper would have been ruined.

Silence filled the room once again. The silence was warmer this time, more comforting. A tiny yawn appeared and disappeared in the blink of an eye as Eden was lowered into the crib, her fathers peering at her with adoring eyes. As soon as she was settled in her crib, the lull of sleep washing over her, her parents crept towards the door. Aziraphale and Crowley both glanced over their shoulders at their resting daughter.

“So, fathers?” the angel asked, affection lacing his voice. 

“Fathers. And fathers we shall forever be, angel,” the demon responded, sharing a tender smile before they both slipped out of the room.

All three of them slept peacefully under the stars that night. 

The angel, the demon and their daughter slept with the stars in their eyes. 

  
  
  



	11. (Business) Trip of Temptation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please inform me of any spelling, continuity and grammatical errors, as this chapter has not been beta read.
> 
> Special thanks to the Good Omens server :)

“Lovely talking to you again, Freya, and I hope you settle back into employment easily! Toodle-Pip!” 

Bidding their surrogate farewell, Aziraphale returned the cream receiver back to it's cradle, turning his attention towards his bookshop and, more importantly, Eden and Crowley. 

”I’m assuming that Freya has returned to the world of work?” the demon enquired, leaning back into the mustard couch. Leaning against his chest, Eden snuggled in closer, drifting off once again into a world of dreams. 

“Quite so. She said that she would go utterly insane if all she could was lounge around the apartment,” the angel explained, tidying up some of the shelves as he spoke. “Therefore, just three weeks after giving birth, Miss McCarthy is back to doing what she loves to do: nursing.”

Crowley hummed in acknowledgment. With both entities’ attentions places elsewhere, neither of them noticed an ebony envelope slide on to the doormat. In fact, no-one realised until the more holy of the pair returned from the kitchen. Two mugs were clutched in each hand. 

“Oh, look, dear, a letter,” Aziraphale exclaimed, hastily placing both mugs on the coffee table before racing off towards the door. Crowley had barely registered what he had said.

The angel retrieved the letter with his perfectly-manicured fingers. Inspecting it, his eyes took note of the envelope’s dark colour, the sigil stamp and the rough, ruby writing.

“Crowley, it’s for you,” Aziraphale stated, holding out the letter as he entered the back-room. The white-gold segment of his wedding band contrasted the inky hue of the envelope. 

Using a free hand to take the envelope, Crowley inspected it from behind his glasses, and groaned.

“Oh, it’s from Downstairs, what the deuce do they want?” he hissed, ironing out his posture. He looked as stiff as a board. Passing Eden off to his husband, he used his nails to tear through the seal. A singed piece of paper shot out and hovered before his face. 

“‘Crowley, you’re needed. Tomorrow, head to Port Talbot, urgent temptation is needed. Forget your little squirt and leave the other softie behind for a few days, Hell requires it. Dagon, Lord of the Files,’” the infernal being recited, each word glowing as he read it. As soon as he had completed reading the letter, the entire article crumbled into ash, a briefing sheet and hotel booking taking its place. A larger groan emerged from both spouses. 

“I thought they promised to leave us alone!” Crowley growled, gathering up the documents. 

“I thought so too, dear, but apparently, that doesn’t include performing miracles or temptations. It has been around a year,” Aziraphale reasoned, his brow crinkling as his focus shifted from his daughter to his husband. 

“Yeah, but a year is practically nothing to us! And anyway, I don’t want to leave you two by yourselves,” the occultist entity protested. His eyes drifted towards the documentation again.

“I don’t mind if you go off and do this. After all, it’s only for two days, Head Office says that they require your presence. Me and our little apple will be just fine,” the angel stated calmly, bouncing Eden slightly. “It’s not like we have any major events coming up, apart from the christening, and that isn’t until the start of December.”

Despite being of rather grey morality (or so they expected, being a hybrid and all), both ‘men’ had decided to have a christening at Tadfield Manor in a few weeks. It allowed them to have an official ceremony to name their baby without burning the soles of her papa’s feet off. They suspected that religious ceremonies, such as this one, fell under neutral territory anyway. 

Crowley jutted his bottom lip out slightly. He really didn’t want to leave them. Yes, he didn’t mind tempting people, it was in his nature and it occupied him; that didn’t mean that he wanted to abandon the two people he adored most in the world. He didn’t care that he wasn’t meant to love anything- demons were expected to break any and all rules. 

“Fine, I’ll go, but only because it’s only for two days, including travel,” Crowley sighed. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of his daughter’s head, and then one on the forehead of Aziraphale. The flaxen-haired angel smiled.

“I s’pose that I better get packing then.” 

*

Leaves of umber and ochre twirled around the couple’s feet. The beginning of November frost was miracled away from the Bentley’s windscreen. Aziraphale was tucking Crowley’s pale blue scarf into his hefty winter-coat, Eden sprawled across his shoulder. A bulky suitcase lay in the boot.

“Right, do you remember what I told you, dear?” the angel enquired, his own pom-pom hat sliding over his eyebrows. 

“Call you when I arrive at the hotel, drive safely and have a decent time. Don’t worry, I’ll remember, angel,” Crowley rattled off, fiddling with the hem of his cloth longcoat. It was freezing. He hated it. 

“All tickety-boo. Now, me and Eden will miss you, just remember-“ Aziraphale began.

“Try to enjoy Wales. I know,” the demon finished, attempting to look menacing. The tender smile on his face betrayed him. Not that he minded. “I better head off, speak to you later, angel.”

Leaning in, Crowley pressed an affectionate kiss on to his husband’s lips. Drawing away, Aziraphale gave a quick wave ‘goodbye’, an action that was returned by the demon as he slid into the driver’s seat of the car. Smoke burst out of the exhaust pipe as the raven car sped around the corner and out of sight. 

The angel gazed at his daughter, and sighed.

“Come along, Eden. Just you and Pater now.”

Escaping from the biting November air, Mr Fell and the young Miss Crowley-Fell miracled the door of the comforting bookshop open, entering almost as quickly as Mr Crowley was forced to leave. 

*

A fire crackled away in the corner of the bookshop. Similarly, a scented candle also burned away in the corner of the room, filling the room with the aroma of leather and dark chocolate. Crowley wasn’t fond of candles, especially in the bookshop. Since the harsh weather usually drove people off the streets, Aziraphale (and by extension, Eden) weren’t expecting any customers that day. A vinyl record from a bygone era also crackled away in the corner of the store.

“‘We’ll meet again… don’t know when… don’t know where…” Aziraphale hummed, his angelic tone providing some white noise as he arranged one of his shelves. Eden lay asleep in the Moses basket by the counter. 

“But I know we’ll meet again, some sunny day-“

“Excuse me?” interrupted an elderly woman, a tartan headscarf tied around her silvery hair. 

“Oh, I’m dreadfully sorry, ma’am, I was a tad distracted!” Aziraphale apologised, turning towards the customer. 

“It’s alright, dearie, one of my favourite’s from the war, to be honest,” the pensioner replied, adjusting her wire-framed spectacles. She looked to be around ninety, and seemed to be doing rather well for her age. “I was just wondering, do you have any first-edition history books about the Second World War in your collection?”

Fortunately, the bookseller has multiple copies of first-edition history texts from the Fifties. He figured that he could bear to part with just one book.

“Allow me to pop into my back room, and I’ll have a rummage around,” the angel proclaimed with a smile before disappearing. He know exactly where he was looking, and what he was looking for. 

“Here you are, ma’am, I’ll just ring it up for you!” Aziraphale proclaimed, guiding the elderly woman towards the register. He proceeded to ring her up, periodically checking up on Eden as he did so. The woman in the headscarf began to coo at the baby. 

“Oh, hello, precious! Aren’t you a beautiful little girl? What’s her name?” she enquired, stroking Eden’s soft skin with a wrinkled finger. Aziraphale felt himself glow with pride. 

“She’s called Eden,” he stated joyfully, placing both of his hands on the counter as he peered at his daughter. His rings clinked against the surface of the table. 

“Oh, she’s a beauty, you and your wife must be very proud of her,” the elder stated, her grey eyes widening. 

“Husband, actually, and yes, we’re both very proud of our little apple,” the ethereal entity corrected her, his grin never slipping.

“Oh, my mistake, dearie. Is that him?” the woman gestured towards the photograph in the gold frame sat on the table behind the counter, hiding just out of sight by a stack of prophecies. Aziraphale spun around, noticing the picture before picking it up. The brightly-hued image was one of several taken on their wedding day: a close-up of them laughing as they were showered with rose petals. All of the guests decided to ambush them as they stepped outside.

“Oh, yes, one from our wedding day. He’s the one with the flaming hair and the sunglasses.”

The gilted frame was warily passed to the customer’s hands. Aziraphale rang her up.

“£25, ma’am, if you would be so kind,” he remarked. Fumbling with her purse for a moment, two crumpled notes were pushed towards the bookseller. 

“There you are. Love your lad’s hair, I must say, very dashing!” the woman gushed, peering up at Aziraphale. He blushed intensely. “Reminds me of my John, he had gorgeous red locks when we were younger. He used to say that me and him, his Marilyn, would rule the world.”

The woman’s eyes filled with sentiment. Love swelled like a song within the heavenly spirit. The wedding photograph was returned to him. 

“Thank you for the book, you’ve been such a charming young man. Farewell, dearie,” Marilyn bid him farewell, giving him a shaky wave as she paced out of the door and on to the street.

Aziraphale trailed a few steps behind her, flipping the sign of the bookshop. That was enough selling for one day. 

Eden had also seemingly had enough, because ten minutes after her pater had closed up the shop, she began to wail. The divine entity scooped her up immediately. 

“Oh, no, oh no, Eden, please don’t cry! Please don’t cry for Pater!” he attempted to soothe her, rocking her backwards and forwards in his arms. “Do you need a nappy change?”

Lifting her up, a quick sniff confirmed all he needed to know. 

“Good heavens! Right, come along, dear, let’s go upstairs,” remarked the angel, swiftly padding up the stairs to the nursery. Using a free hand to unlock the door, the pair of them bustled in. Once Eden was placed down, still sobbing, on to the changing table, her blonde father pushed up the sleeves of his jumper.

Unbuttoning her onesie, Aziraphale tugged the soft fabric down, and began to peel off her nappy. Their brief stint at parenting class, the advice from Dr Sante (who was now Eden Amari’s GP) and the multitude of forums had taught them how to change a nappy. However, none of them had prepared this particular father for what he was about to see. 

“ **Holy-** !” Aziraphale screeched, slapping a hand over his mouth. He didn’t want to startle her. With an expression of discomfort and slight disgust, the offending nappy was disposed of, and enough wipes to clean a small army were used to remove the evidence. Sliding her on to a clean nappy, the angel added a burst of talcum powder to her, the excess clouding up and clinging to him. One minute later, the crying had ceased, a fresh nappy had been applied and Aziraphale had washed his hands with a square mile of soap. 

One independent nappy change down, many more to go.

*

After several hours of horrendous traffic, Crowley felt about ready to throw in the towel. He’s 66.6% sure that he’s already caused at least five people to sin just by sitting in his car. Thankfully, the torture of being stuck on the motorway had ended, and the demon was now sprawled across one of the lumpy, rocky beds he’s ever had the displeasure of sleeping on. He would much rather have his own bed, with its soft sheets, layers of blankets and his holy husband. 

“This will have to do…” Crowley grovelled, turning over to reach for his phone. The accommodation may be terrible, but at least the vast majority of people were lovely. Reminded him of Aziraphale. 

Scrolling through his contacts, Crowley found the number he was looking for. Selecting it, he held the phone up to his ear, the dial tone ringing into his ears as he gazed down on to the darkened streets of Wales. 

He missed them already. 

*

7:31pm. The shrill tone of the landline phone startled Aziraphale, engaged in a rather riveting game of peek-a-boo. Eden’s emerald eyes seemed to convey amusement, he wasn’t entirely sure. He was having fun anyway. Grappling across the end table, Aziraphale eventually found the receiver and picked it up. Eden was propped up in her father’s lap.

“I’m afraid we’re closed at the moment,” the angel responded politely, using his free hand to stroke the wisps of hair on the baby’s scalp.

“Angel. It’s me,” replied Crowley, his tone a mix of mostly amusement and slight annoyance. 

“Oh, dear, we’ve both missed you so much! How was the journey? Did the Bentley hold up okay?” Aziraphale exhaled, every inch of him bubbling with relief. 

“Bentley was fine. Journey was utter bollocks. Bloody traffic made travelling so much more hellish, if you pardon my language,” Crowley complained, the rustling of bed sheets audible in the background. “How about you and the little apple? You both managing fine without me?” 

“Yes, yes, everything’s spiffing. Although, we did have the ‘Beaten Brown Trail’ earlier that I had to deal with by myself!” 

Crowley chuckled. 

“Oh, angel!” he chortled, barely masking his laughter. 

“It was quite unpleasant!” the celestial figure protested, putting on his best ‘stop laughing at my misfortune’ voice.

His best attempt at that tone just so happened to be his worst as well. A grin managed to slip through. 

“Very sorry, Aziraphale. Turns out this temptation is convincing a scraggly teenager to steal a can of Pepsi, I mean- I mean- all the way to Port Talbot for that?!” Crowley complained, misery engulfing his voice. Clearly, he didn’t believe that the god-awful journey was worth it. 

“Oh, dear. Sounds like they’re building you back up to what you usually did in the most irritating way possible,” Aziraphale sighed, the glow of the fireplace basking Eden’s face in light. 

“Welcome to Downstairs, may I interest you in a guided tour?” 

This statement caused a giggle to squeak its way out of the angel. 

“Oh, believe me, I’ve had the tour and- oh, what’s that lovely millennial expression?- bought the t-shirt!”

“Good for you. Look, angel-“ Crowley started, his formerly-euphoric (or as euphoric as he would allow) tone making way for one of regret. “I’m afraid that I’ll have to go now, feel like collapsing under the sheets after that horrendous journey.”

“Oh, if you just dear.”

“Remember, if you need me at any point in the night, just use the bedroom phone, I’ll answer. I promise. Is that okay, angel?”

“I believe that that would be adequate.”

“Tell Eden that Papa loves her. Love you, Aziraphale.”

“Love you too, Crowley. Goodnight.”

“Night.”

The line went dead. In Soho, an angel longed for his husband in the dark glasses to return home as he put his daughter to bed, the fire and the candles snuffed out long ago. 

In Port Talbot, a demon yearned for his spouse and his daughter as he turned over in his silk pajamas.

*

If he wasn’t already awake, Aziraphale would have been roused from slumber at the first sign of Eden crying. Stumbling out of the marital bedroom in the dark, the angel rubbed his eyes, and peered up at the clock on the wall. 

2:44am. 

Pushing the ivory door open, Aziraphale guided himself towards the crib, the reflection of the name frame on the galaxy-papered wall guiding him to his destination. He scooped up his daughter. 

“Oh, Eden. My little apple, please don’t be upset, what’s the matter? Does your nappy need changing again?” the celestial remarked, giving her a quick sniff. “No, not that. Are you hungry?”

The wails intensified at the mention of food.

“Alright, let’s go downstairs, I’m sure that Papa has left some bottles in the fridge. All they need to do is be warmed up,” Aziraphale muttered to himself, swaddling his daughter in a blanket from the drawer under the bed. 

Padding downstairs, the angel entered the kitchen, flicking the extractor fan’s overhead light on. Bright enough to see, dim enough not to stun him. 

He tugged open the fridge. He scanned once; no sign of the milk bottles. He scanned twice; still couldn’t be found. He scanned three times, albeit more throughly; the bottles were either incredibly successful at hide-and-seek or they didn’t exist.

He forgot to ask Crowley to prepare some bottles!

When it came to humans, the most that angels of any stock can do is grant extra fertility or heal broken bones. They couldn’t produce anything biological, or alter the biology of any mortal; it was against the ‘Rules and Guidlines of the Holy Gurdians of The Almighty (revised edition, 4004BC)’. Therefore, Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate, would have to feed Eden Amari, Child of the Limbo, himself. 

He still hadn’t managed it. He’s tried multiple times, and regardless of the time of day, where they were (often in the bookshop) or how they did it, the angel had been unable to nurse Eden. He’s gradually getting closer, but when it came to actually feeding her, he would panic, clam up and ask Crowley to feed her. Crowley always understood, but tonight, his darling demon wasn’t here. 

He would have to do it himself. 

*

Pater and daughter settled into the rocking chair in the nursery, a throw blanket draped across his legs. He released a hefty sigh, and squeezed his eyes shut, focusing and funnelling any divine energy into manifesting the ‘necessary equipment’, as he had once so eloquently phrased it. Exhaling deeply, he ran a hand through his tufts of platinum-blond hair. Was he ready? Could he do it? Would he be able to feed her without seizing up? 

Opening his eyes, the angel began to undo the top few buttons of his pajama shirt. Every button made him feel more uncomfortable. The dark, deadly pit of fear at the base of his stomach expanded and grew- he pushed it down the best he could. 

“What did Crowley do next?” Aziraphale pondered aloud, peering at Eden, tears still dribbling down her cheeks. Taking a deep breath, he held his daughter up to his chest, using is hand to encourage her to latch on. 

“Please, dear, please just feed for Pater,” he pleaded her, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. Oh, how he hated this, how he hated that he couldn’t just feed her like Crowley did. He pushed on, marched on. He had to. 

Eventually, he felt it. He felt Eden latch on, and as soon as he felt her begin to feed, he supported the back of her head. If you were to stand at the doorway and just look at Aziraphale, sat in the chair, you wouldn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. However, if you were to switch the bedroom light on, or creep closer to where they were sitting, you would realise that there were pained, silent tears running down the principality’s cheeks. In the darkness of that November night, he was slightly ashamed to admit- even to himself- that he was relieved when Eden had had her fill. Burping her over his shoulder, he released any ounce of effort lingering inside him. An index finger was used to wipe the tears away. 

“It’s over, it’s done with…” Aziraphale comforted himself as he drew the now-sleeping Eden away from his shoulder. Kissing her on the top of her head, he removed the blanket and settled the child down into her crib. The blanket was folded and stored away under the bed. The angel crept out of the room and shut the door. 

Aziraphale clambered back into the bed and lay there, nervously eyeing the bedroom landline. The sleek black telephone awaited him in the corner.

“I need him…” the angel whispered to himself, before pushing himself out of the bed. Tonight, the bed was empty, cold, lonely. It was awful, it didn’t feel like his bed. 

Punching his husband’s number in, the dial tone filled the room, punctuating the agonising silence. 

“Please pick up, dear.”

*

It was the dead of night when the phone rattled to life. Pushing himself off the tough pillows, Crowley spent a few seconds fumbling for his mobile phone in the dark room. 

Nobody would call him at this hour unless something dreadful has occurred, or if Aziraphale just wanted some company. He hoped that it was the latter. 

“Hello, Antony J. Crowley speaking?” the demon enquired, willing any trace of exhaustion to vanish.

“Crowley…” 

It was the latter option.

“Ah, Aziraphale,” Crowley greeted his spouse softly, running his free hand through his crimson tresses. “Is something wrong? You sound all… clogged.”

“It was Eden. I had to feed her because of a silly error I made last night. I-I f-forgot to ask you to leave some bottles of milk for the fridge, and I h-had to do it myse-“

Every word caused the angel’s voice to break and simultaneously chip away at Crowley’s heart. 

“Angel, I’m so sorry. Were you okay? D-did you… manage?” the demon asked, unsure of what to say. He knew how much nursing Eden made Aziraphale clam up- he was kicking himself for not leaving any supplies behind. 

“Y-Yes, thank you, I managed… I don’t think I can… I can do it… Crowley… It-it’s just too much,” the ethereal entity shuddered down the phone line. 

“Don’t worry, angel. Next time, I’ll make sure to leave some milk behind in future. I just want to make sure you’re okay, and I’m not hanging up this phone until I do. Would you like to… talk for a bit?” Crowley enquired , the little pocket of home around his ear filling with love. 

“Yes…yes, I would like that,” Aziraphale decided, the borders of the sentence becoming tender with the idea of speaking to Crowley.

They nattered for two hours thereafter, their conversation filling with anecdotes, comfort and, most of all, love. 

God, how Crowley wanted to be home. He wanted nothing more than to get this stupid temptation over and done with so he could return to London. 

*

Unlike yesterday, the brutal November winds haven’t put off the residents of London. More people seemed to ram the streets than ever, each person ducking and weaving around one another. 

Aziraphale was especially irritated when someone knocked on the door of the bookshop, seemingly completely ignoring the ‘Closed’ sign on the door. 

“Hello, dear!” Madame Tracy greeted the angel, her (fingerless) gloved hands folded over the top of each other. 

“Ah, Madame Tracy, I wasn’t expecting you! Please, do come in,” Aziraphale returned the gesture, opening the door wider to allow the medium in. 

“Lovely little place you’ve got, Mr Aziraphale, and how’s little Eden?” 

“Eden is doing splendidly, she’s just resting in the Moses basket on the table,” the angel reassured Tracy, rocking the Moses basket gently as a method of soothing her. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Oh, yes please, milk with one sugar please,” Tracy stated, occupying herself with cooing over the daughter of the angel. “Is Mr Crowley not about?”

Between stirring cups of tea and adding cubes of sugar to beverages, Aziraphale hollered back from the kitchen. 

“I’m afraid not. Gone away on a business trip to Wales. Me and Eden miss him dreadfully, but we should expect him back in an hour or two,” Aziraphale replied, his volume decreasing as he left the kitchen. A ceramic mug covered in polka dots was given to the medium, who was adjusting her blonde bob. 

“Thank you, dear. Now, have you seen that new programme on Channel Four?” 

For the next few hours, the pair of them switched between chuckling over trivial things, cooing at Eden and slurping various steaming drinks. In the back of his mind, the heavenly being counted down the time until Crowley’s return. 

At around half-three, sandwiched between a second round of tea and discussing the new corner shop in Croydon, Aziraphale’s ears perked up at the sound of a roaring engine screeching to a halt, ‘Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy’ blaring out of the speakers. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed, abandoning the tea on the table and racing outside with Eden, Madame Tracy watching with amusement from behind. 

Suddenly, a lanky figure in a bulging, black coat hopped out of the Bentley, engulfing his husband and daughter into a hug. 

“Oh, Crowley, how we’ve missed you!” Aziraphale exclaimed, passing his daughter to her papa. 

“You have now idea how mundane it was in Wales. Such a boring temptation,” Crowley drawled as he played with his daughter, peering up at him with bold, green eyes. 

“May I tempt you to a spot of tea, dear? We do have company!”

“Yes, I noticed that Tracy dropped in.”

Back together, once again. Pater, Papa and Baby, laughing and loving in the bookshop in Soho. 

*

“You have no idea how much I missed you, Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed, pressing closer into his husband’s side with closed eyes. The bed was much more comfortable and inviting than it was yesterday.

“Er-erm, well, I-I might have an inkling,” the demon replied, pressing a light kiss to the angel’s head. 

He had missed his angel just as much. 

Everyone was glad to be home. Everyone was back where they belonged.

Back with the people (and entities) they adored. 

  
  
  
  
  
  



	12. Rockabye Eden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please inform me of any spelling, grammar or continuity errors, as this has not been beta read!
> 
> Special thanks to the Good Omens Discord :)

November had hit London like a swirling snowstorm. The lips of every passerby were tinged blue, their arms huddled around them for warmth; even their hefty winter jackets did little to protect them against the baltic midnight air. Unlike the general population wandering around that night, the bookshop in Soho was radiating with heat. As per Crowley’s request, Aziraphale had blasted the central heating up and buried their bed with blankets. A mile-high tower of cotton, silk and plush was strewn across their duvet, all in the name of having a full, comfortable night’s sleep.

“ **Waaaaaaaah!** ” wailed Eden, her tiny lungs fuelling her mighty cry. 

In that instance, any hopes the couple had of sleeping (or, in Aziraphale’s case, reading) had been disrupted. 

Yawning, the demon unfurled himself from the blankets and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, pushing on his ebony slippers. His angel was beginning to slide his wire-framed reading glasses. 

“No, Aziraphale, it’s my turn tonight,” Crowley grumbled, swaddling himself with one of his husband’s dressing gowns. Crimson tartan wasn’t really his style. In fact, it was the furthest possible option away from his style: if Aziraphale’s dress sense was on Mercury, his was stuck on Pluto. 

Padding down the corridor, the volume of the wails grew louder and louder. The demon pushed the door open, flicking on the string of star-shaped fairy lights that hung over the door frame. 

“Right, erm… Eden. W-what d’you want?” Crowley mumbled, half to himself and a half to his daughter. Due to the impossibly late hour, the infernal being’s head hasn’t quite kicked into gear yet. Gently, her papa began to rock her, desperately thinking of what could possibly be upsetting her. 

“Apple, something must be wrong!” he exclaimed quietly. “Are you hungry? Too cold, too warm? Need a nappy change?”

Briefly resting her on his shoulder, her tears seeping into his silk pyjamas, the demon leaned down. Clicking the radiator to a slightly higher temperature, he stood up. His daughter was still sobbing her tiny, emerald eyes out. The back of her tiny pyjamas felt damp. 

“Is a- Is a nappy change in order, my dear boy?” enquired Aziraphale from the doorway, his own cotton pyjamas wrapping around his feet. His husband spun around, both his garments and his dark circles blending into the shadows of the nursery. 

“Yes, angel. Mind giving me a hand?” Crowley replied. His blonde curls rustling, the celestial approached the changing table. 

Since there were two sets of hands, Eden was into fresh pyjamas and nappy in miraculous time. 

Her overbearing wails had hushed down into gentle breathing, the baby’s tiny fingers curled into equally petite fists. Pacing quietly, Crowley and Aziraphale returned Eden to the comfort of her crib.

“Goodnight, my apple,” Crowley whispered, giving her one last glance as her papa and her pater closed the door, intent on huddling up together in their cosy bed. 

*

Two minutes. Barely two minutes had passed, and the parents had just collapsed back into their memory foam mattress. The enjoyable warmth inside the room contrasted the whistling, biting winds outside on the streets. 

“Do you think Eden will sleep through the night?” Crowley asked, his hands propped behind his head. 

“Let’s hope so, dear,” Aziraphale remarked, closing his hardback, first-edition copy of ‘David Copperfield’. A well-used leather bookmark was slotted between the pages before the novel was placed on the bedside table. With pinched fingers, the angel pulled the cord to their bedside lamp, the room immediately shrouded in darkness. 

“ **Waaaaaaah!** ” shrieked Eden Amari, the entire apartment filling with the child’s cries. 

Sighing, the glow of the lamp immediately flooded the room with light, the angel and the demon both throwing back the cosy duvet. This time, two sets of slippers padded down the hallway. One pair were tartan and well-worn, the other ebony and immaculate. 

Once again, Crowley switched on the fairy-lights on the nursery as they entered the room. Metallic specks of silver within the wallpaper illuminated with the moonlight. 

“Oh, my dear, p-please don’t cry!” Aziraphale soothes her, scooping her up and rocking her, the soles of his slippers creating a rhythmic tap against the floorboards. “Please…”

Any feeble attempts of comforting his daughter were drowned out by her gut-wrenching sobs. 

“Maybe she needs feeding?” Crowley suggested, running a hand through his already manic bed-head. Each lock of hair stuck up in every direction like flames of a fire. 

“Yes, maybe she does,” his husband replied, his own flaxen curls peeking out from under his night-cap. “Bottle?”

“No, no, I’ll just do it now,” the demon waved him away, yawning as Eden was passed off to him. Father and daughter settled into the rocking chair. “Maybe set the mobile away? T-that might… what’s the word?”

“Lull her to sleep, dear?” Aziraphale suggested. He could hear their comfortable bed calling him from down the hall. Typically, angels and demons didn’t require sleep like mortals needed it. However, ever since Eden Amari, the apple of their eyes, their little angelic (and demonic) darling arrived into the world, it seems that the constant routine of caring for her day-in, day-out without miracles was causing the occasional need to sleep in both of them. Aziraphale despised it. It was bound to get better as she grew older; the Principality hoped so anyway. 

The sound of silence populated the room as Eden was nursed by her papa. Eventually, her tiny mouth drew away, and her petite body was given to her pater in order to be burped before being returned to her crib. 

“Hopefully she will sleep for a few hours now, Crowley,” the angel commented, using both hands to lower his daughter onto her soft mattress. 

“Let's hope so,” Crowley replied as he buttoned up his pyjamas. 

Tiny snores filled the atmosphere for the second time that night. With whispered voices and light footsteps, Crowley and Aziraphale sneaked out of the bedroom, turned off the lights and closed the ivory, wooden door. 

“I swear to someone, I hope she sleeps tonight!” the infernal entity muttered under his breath. Rapidly, he stuck his hands out, catching his husband before he fell face-first into the wooden floor. “And I think it’s time for a certain angel to go to bed.”

“Bu’ Crowley, I don’ wan’oo,” whined the angel, protesting that he wasn’t tired in the slightest. His rumpled hair, twisted pyjamas and drooping eyelids blew his cover. 

“Come on angel, to be-“

“ **Waaaaaaah! Waaaah!** ”

The demon’s words were cut off once again by the sound of his daughter. He closed his eyes and sighed. He could see the scene already: eyes screwed up, tears pouring down her plump cheeks, her head lifted up and propped up on her chest. He sighed again, and peered at the clock. 

It was four in the morning. 

*

_“Go to sleep and dream of us,”_

Aziraphale could hear the faint sound of a melody through the door of the nursery. Cautiously, he pushed opened the door and peered inside. 

_“Doom and darkness, love and joy,”_

Stood, tenderly rocking Eden, was Crowley, singing softly to her, her head resting in his chest. 

_“Sleep so sweet, my darling girl,”_

A little piece of paradise formed inside the angel’s heart when he saw this. A beaming smile formed across his face as he poked his head through the door. 

_“None can rule our hearts like yours,”_ the demon finished. As the note trailed off into the room, the demonic parent pressed a feather-light kiss to Eden’s forehead before settling her back into her crib. Crowley approached the door, and startled himself with the unexpected sight of his husband smiling softly from the door. A faint, yet genuine grin spread across Crowley’s exhausted face. 

“Hopefully she will sleep through the night now, angel. Bed?”

“Let’s go to bed, my dear.”

Leaning on each other for support, the couple of both Above and Below staggered back to their room and clambered back into their inviting bed. Even though they would never admit it, both Aziraphale and Crowley were hoping that their daughter would sleep soundly and happily through the night. 

Crowley was right, of course: Eden Amari slept peacefully for the remainder of the night. No more crying, no more late nappy-changes and no more fatigued feeds occurred for the rest of that November nights. 

Until tomorrow, when they will sing her lullabies and tuck her in at all hours of the night. 

They wouldn’t change it for the world. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this! 
> 
> Feel free to create fan-art for this fic, and any comments and kudos are greatly appreciated.
> 
> Come and shout at me on tumblr: @bluedalmatian14


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